


Reconciled Moments

by Destinyawakened



Series: The In Between [3]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M, Pre-The Dark Knight Rises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyawakened/pseuds/Destinyawakened
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Gordon's relationship with Bruce Wayne is more open than ever, but it still has its ups and downs and especially when his family situation takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been one month -- one month since Jim Gordon walked into Bruce Wayne's penthouse to reconcile their differences and finally come to an understanding. Bruce had finally admitted his need for support during the rest of his detox, which could take a couple months longer. They wouldn't know for sure that the drugs had completely left Bruce's system until he started to feel like his old self again. Gordon had started to think that it would never happen, that Bruce would always have some lingering effects from the medication, even though the billionaire promised that wouldn't be the case.

 

Either way, Gordon was there for Bruce; the worst had passed and now the uphill climb back to the top was all that was left. And after a month of being with Bruce every day, to check up on him after work or just to stay with him when the lows began to get too low, Gordon thought things were going well. He gave everything he had, every last bit of energy to Bruce and so far it was paying off. Except now, he had to let go for a while – two days to be exact. Lucius Fox, Bruce's CEO of Wayne Enterprises, had asked him to go to Metropolis to close a deal. Mister Fox had known of Bruce's ordeal, and thought the trip would be good for him, forcing him to get out and mingle and bit and get back into the swing of society.

 

So, that left them standing on the tarmac leading to Bruce's small jet, the beginnings of a warm wind whipping around them as Gordon couldn't quite figure out how to say goodbye. He had grown even more attached to the playboy over the past month than he had ever thought he would. They had finally made it through their toughest obstacle and were stronger than ever. Bruce started up the steps to the plane, tugging on Gordon's hand so the older man would follow. They reached the top and Gordon stood to one side, looking out towards the airport and the city that lay splayed out behind it: Gotham. It was the moments like this that Gordon lived for – standing with Bruce, watching over the city that they protected and called their own. Gotham City was a cruel child sometimes, but she was all they had together, and was everything they shared.

 

“I'm not good at saying 'good-bye', Jim.,” Bruce said as he gazed at over the same view. “And I'm even worse at saying how much I'm going to miss you.”

 

Gordon rolled his eyes. Even if it was true, Bruce was still suave as ever at getting his point across by being smug about it. Gordon turned his gaze to Bruce, reaching out and smoothing down a piece of the younger man's hair that had gotten caught up in the wind. Bruce caught his hand and held it to the side of his face for a brief moment before bringing their arms down to their sides, holding tight to the older man's hand.

 

“You aren't leaving forever,” Gordon said with a tone of thick sarcasm, trying to break the sentimental tension that was building between them. Neither of them had ever been one to show more affection than was necessary, but since the drug incident and Selina Kyle, they both seemed to be giving in a lot more and putting a lot more effort into showing the other how they felt. It seemed to bethe best thing to do.

 

“Two days could feel like forever,” Bruce mumbled as he pushed Gordon up against the side of the wall, one hand cupping Gordon's cheek and the other at his hip. Bruce bent in and kissed the commissioner slowly, allowing the moment to pass around them as if no one else existed. Gordon didn't want Bruce to leave at all, but he was pretty sure it was just the longing in his groin that controlled that part of his brain; the other part was trying its best, emotionally, to let go of Bruce and move on with work and the other things he had to deal with for the next two days.

 

Gordon let out a sigh as their lips parted, still barely touching. “Bruce,” he breathed, “you have to get going. I'll be here when you get back.”

 

“You better be,” Bruce said teasingly as he quickly kissed Gordon one last time. Gordon reached out and squeezed Bruce's hand and gazed into his eyes one last time before heading back down the stairs to the tarmac to watch the jet leave. He prayed Bruce would make it there safely.

 

\-------

 

“I really wish you had just taken the flight out here with Babs,” Gordon said into his cell phone. He was talking to his brother Roger. He and his wife were due into Gotham in a few days and they had decided it would be romantic to take the long drive there together. Gordon thought it was suicide, considering the route that would have to be taken from Chicago to Gotham. So far Roger said that he and Thelma had been doing just fine and had avoided any “suspicious” activity. Gordon wasn't sure what he meant, but didn't ask.

 

“Babs is a big girl, Jim. She's not the twelve-year-old you saw last. She's a young woman now and consequently won't let us forget that,” Roger explained. Babs had a few days left of school and couldn't drive out with her parents; Roger told Gordon that she was staying at a close friend's house until early Saturday morning when they would put her on her flight to Gotham. sixteen-years-old or not, Gordon still worried about his niece; she was very impressionable and anything could go wrong.

 

Maybe he was just being overprotective of his family. Aside from Barbara, Jimmy and Susan, his brother and his family were all Gordon had left for relatives.

 

“When do you expect to be in on Friday?” Gordon asked changing the subject to something a little more positive instead of dwelling on what he couldn't change.

 

“Should be there around seven-thirty in the evening, or so.” Roger paused, as if considering his words carefully. “And you're sure Bruce Wayne doesn't mind us staying at his house?” His tone suggested that he couldn't believe that a man such as Bruce would be charitable enough to offer something of that a stature.

 

“Bruce insisted on it. He knows I don't have the space to keep more than two people.”

 

There was a moments hesitation on the other end, and Gordon knew his brother wanted to ask the question that most people asked or were thinking of when they found out that Bruce Wayne was Gordon's “good friend”. People always wanted the details, to know without knowing and to keep themselves hidden from the real truth but wanting it all the same. Anyone who suspected felt this and it practically radiated off of them.

 

“Well, I'll let you and Thelma go and get some rest so you can continue your journey here in the morning.” Gordon had grown uncomfortable and knew his brother had as well; if that said anything about their impending trip, he knew it was going to be like walking on eggshells for both of them.

 

“Night, Jim.” Roger hung up. Gordon cared for his brother and his family as much as someone would care for their relatives, but he had never really liked his brother as a person. Roger was a drinker and had been known to be abusive, but when confronted about ithe denied it. Gordon only knew about it because of the one time that Thelma had called him some years ago when Babs was small, and told him about Roger's drunken rampage through the house. Since then, Thelma denied it ever happening, and it was never spoken of again. Gordon hated that he couldn't be there for her, that he couldn't do anything about it. But it had passed, and he was certain that Roger changed. They would surely find out soon.

 

\-----

 

Jim Gordon found he felt lonelier than ever without Bruce around. Jimmy and Susan wouldn't be up for a while; Barbara insisted that they stay home for the few weeks left of school to keep focused. Gordon found that he kept mostly to this office at the Major Crimes Unit, working late into the night to finish the paperwork on the Holiday case that kept falling through the cracks. He usually didn't make it home on these days, staying well into the night and crashing on the couch in his office. Except tonight. Tonight Roger would be coming into town.

 

Alfred was already out there by the curbside to meet him when Gordon pulled up the long driveway. The butler opened the commissioner's door for him with a polite nod of his head. Gordon stepped out, giving the older gentlemen a shy grin. He tried to shut the door behind himself, but Alfred had a firm grip on it and gave Gordon a look of “don't even think about it”. So he didn't. He moved away from the door, hands up in surrender.

 

“I really don't think I'll ever get use to this treatment,” he said to the older gentlemen. Alfred gave him a small smile and shut the car door nicely. “It's really not necessary.”

 

Alfred nodded. “If you say so, Master Gordon.”

 

Gordon rolled his eyes; he hated being called that worst of all. He wasn't “master” of the Manor, or Alfred for that matter, and he hardly thought the title suited him at all. “Is it too much to ask that you just call me 'Jim'?” The butler had just started referring to him as 'Master Gordon' when he had come to live with Gordon a few months Back. Gordon had hoped once he went back to working for Bruce the title would have ended there.

 

Alfred tweaked an eyebrow at him. “Of course, Master _Jim_.” It was a start anyway. “When can I be expecting your brother and his wife, sir?”

 

Gordon looked down at his watch; they should be arriving any time now. He had told them to give him a call if anything happened or if they might be late. “Soon. Did you need help with dinner?”

 

“Not at all, sir. But if you like I can pour you a scotch while you wait.” Alfred was already heading up the steps to the front doors of Wayne Manor, expecting Gordon to follow. The commissioner shook his head slowly.

 

“No. That's alright. I'm going to stay out here for a few more minutes.” He shooed Alfred into the Manor as his hand dug around his pants pocket for his pack of cigarettes. It wasn't a habit he was proud to have picked up again, but he found he really needed the stress relief. With Bruce still coming down off the medication Thomas Elliot had been forcing on him and the current mob investigations at MCU (something he wished would just stay dead), sometimes Gordon just needed five minutes to smoke and forget about everything.

 

He slipped one cigarette out of the package and lit it up with the small lighter he had bought himself around the time Bruce started going insane from the medication. The lighter was now a reminder of the hardships he had faced not too long ago. Flipping the silver Zippo between his fingers, he knew he couldn't bear to let it go; the memories would stay forever, but it was a good reminder of the turmoil his relationship with Bruce had gone through. They had survived it, and he knew they could survive anything else life would to throw at them.

 

Hopefully.

 

Gordon knew the day would come where one of them was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it would be the end. It wasn't a comforting thought and really it wasn't one he should be having. But it was reality and one day it would happen. Neither he nor Bruce had jobs where they weren't in the line of fire at least three times a week. Sure, they took the precautions, wore Kevlar vests – armor for Batman – and even thought out strategies, but one day all those things would fail and one of them would go down. It was just how it went. Gordon never voiced these concerns to Bruce, who was ever the optimist when it came to the matter, though Gordon was sure it was just a cover for knowing, too, that one day it would all end.

 

The sun started to set behind the hill Wayne Manor sat on, and Gordon snubbed out his cigarette on the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He hated when he started to think of the future, or the lack there of. Nothing in his life had ever been easy ,and when he had gotten involved with Bruce Wayne all the simple things had disappeared too. He wasn't complaining; he wouldn't trade anything that had happened between them for the world – the good or the bad. Everything just made what they had that much stronger.

 

He was about to take another cigarette from the pack when his cellphone began to ring in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned at the number; it was a Bludhaven area code. He hit the receive button.

 

“This is Jim Gordon.”

 

“Commissioner Gordon? This is the Bludhaven police department. I'd much rather be doing this in person, but I can't get away right now.” The woman on the other side paused and Gordon started to feel his chest tighten in worry; it wasn't often that he heard from another city's police department. “We had a major car accident this afternoon on one of the back roads leading to Gotham. We have reason to believe the vehicle belongs to a Roger Gordon.”

 

\-------

 

 

Gordon stared down at the face of his brother, cold lifeless and bruised, covered in cuts and deep gashes. They had yet to clean the bodies, freshly brought over from the scene of the accident, but it wasn't hard to see past the gashes and wounds. Light brown crew-cut hair with the Gordon receding hairline, stubble on a usually clean-shaved face; it was Roger all right, there was no doubt in Gordon's mind. He bent over the cool metal slab, hands splayed next to his brother's tattered body. He closed his eyes, tapping his toe on the ground nervously. He knew he was being watched; the Lieutenant who had called him was on the other side of the room, speaking lowly to another officer.

 

“Is – is it possible to get the case file for this sent to Gerard Stephens at Gotham MCU?” Gordon asked without lifting his head or even opening his eyes. He was still in shock, unsure how he was suppose to be feeling. There was a wave of intense cold that had hit him in the chest when he had first arrived and seen the bodies, but it had subsided and soon he had felt more numb than anything else.

 

“Of course, sir.” The woman said. “We'd be honored to work with your team.” Not exactly what Gordon had in mind, but he figured this was out of Gotham city limits; he should be happy they were cooperating at all.

 

“Thank you, lieutenant.” He he pushed himself away from the slab with his hands, taking his glasses off to rub at his eyes. It was all too much. He took a deep breath and desperately wished for this to just be one big nightmare. But he knew, no matter how much he rubbed at his eyes and hoped, nothing was going to change.

 

And then it hit him like a brick wall: _Babs_.

 

No, he could live through this – the pain, the turmoil, the loss – but Babs shouldn't have to. No child should have to live through this ordeal. What was he going to tell her when her plane arrived tomorrow morning? How could he possibly break this to a fourteen-year-old girl? There was no easy way, no real smart way either; he would just have to do it. But there was one person he'd be able to go to for advice on this matter, on dealing with a child who had lost their parents.

 

Alfred.

 

“Do you need me for anything else?” Gordon asked as he slipped his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. The woman shook her head, her face showing that she felt for him, that she was sorry it had even happened. Gordon nodded. “I'll let Lieutenant Stephens know you'll be contacting him shortly.” And with that Gordon walked out of the office.

 

He stood out front of the building, leaning his back up against his car as he lit a cigarette and hit the speed dial for Gerard Stephens' phone. He didn't worry about waking the lieutenant; it was his night on duty. The phone rang a few times and then Stephens answered in a rather hurried tone.

 

“Aren't you suppose to be with your family tonight?” he asked.

 

“Supposed to be,” Gordon grumbled into the receiver. “Gerry, listen. I don't want to get into it right now. But you'll be getting a phone call from the Bludhaven PD soon, they have a case file I need you to go over. I need you to cooperate with them as much as possible. I need all the information on that case that I can get.”

 

“Uhm, okay. I can do that. But Jim, what's going on?” Stephens sounded extremely worried now but Gordon shookit off.

 

“You'll know when you get the files. Just get on it ASAP.” And with that he hung up the phone and finished his cigarette.

\------

 

Gordon arrived back at Wayne Manor some forty-five minutes later and was standing on the doorstep waiting for Alfred to answer. He had taken his time on the way back, to let everything sink in, the realization that his one and only brother was dead, along with his sister-in-law and the dreams of a happy family for his niece. If anything made his heart ache more than it already did, it was the thought of Babs living in a foster home with a family that didn't really love her or care for her the way she would need.

 

Alfred finally opened the door, still dressed to in his suit even given the lateness of the hour. Perhaps he had suspected that Gordon would be back. “Master Jim,” he said plainly, with a nod ,and stood out of the way to allow Gordon to pass by him and into the hall.

 

“Hi, Alfred.” Gordon sighed and turned to face the butler. “Do you have a minute?”

 

Alfred smiled whimsically. “I have several, sir. How can I be of service?” He put a hand to Gordon's back, ushered him into the living room and gestured to the couch. Gordon took a seat, hand clasped together in front of him, leaning forward on his knees.

 

“I'm stuck, Alfred,” Gordon whispered. Alfred was giving Gordon the look he always gave him when he already knew more than he had been told. Alfred always seemed to know. “I'm not sure how to tell my niece that her parents are...” But Gordon found he couldn't even finish the sentence; the word seemed to stick on his tongue but wouldn't roll out. Luckily for him, Alfred was two steps ahead of him.

 

"If I may, sir?” Alfred started, leaning back into the arm of the couch, getting ready, Gordon knew, to tell one of his many stories. “Back in the days of my service to the British Army, I was stationed in Korea. A few of my local friends and I went out for a walk, but one of them managed to find his way into a mine field. My superiors gave me the task to go and tell his family. It was the hardest thing I had to do. The son looked at me with big eyes, asking me where his father was. And I could not lie. Because one day, he would find out the truth. I told him that his father was in heaven now, with God. Though I did not know if he was religious. He hugged me, and thanked me, for telling him the truth. So no matter what she does, she will thank you in the end, for not lying to her and for seeing her as an adult who can handle the truth."

 

Gordon stared at Alfred for a long time, lost in the story for a moment, bringing his own thoughts to the surface about how he would explain the situation to his niece. He just would, it was that simple. When the time presented itself, he would go with his instincts, with his training as an officer of the law, and do it. He'd done this so many times with families and colleagues in the past, why should this be any different? The only difference was that he would be there for the for the aftermath, tears and the turmoil. He could do that, though; he could be Babs' rock.

 


	2. Chapter Two

Gordon didn't get much sleep that night. He slept in Bruce's room; Alfred had pretty much demanded it. And even though he closed his eyes, he couldn't seem to settle deeply enough into the sheets to be comfortable. His mind was reeling over everything and when the sun rose he rose with it; there was no point in avoiding the day, especially when sleep wasn't going to happen. He thought he'd at least put himself together enough to look semi-decent for Bruce's return to Gotham. Gordon had promised to meet him, since his niece's flight was just a half hour or so behind his.

 

He sighed as he waited by one of the gift shops for Bruce to come through the private entrance, where he would hopefully draw less publicity (as if it ever really worked well). Gordon leaned up against a wall, one hand in his pocket, fingering the package of cigarettes. He really wanted to smoke right now, to inhale and feel that everything was at ease for those few seconds. He already felt numb; the emotions he should be feeling about the death of his brother had yet to truly sink in, and he knew this was because he had to be strong for Babs – she shouldn't see him break when he needed to be the firm shoulder for her to cry on.

 

A small jet touched down on the runway, one that had a big Wayne Enterprises painted on it. That would be Bruce. There were a few reporters out there, catching Bruce as he walked off the plane. He had been out of the spotlight for quite some time, hiding from society until he could gather himself into a presentable mood. Gordon thought he had done well, considering the severity of his condition after the medications. He was hardly the same man since then though, and Gordon had begun to wonder if he ever would be again. Bruce still put up the facade for the public, but when alone he was definitely a lot darker, more serious minded than he had been. Gordon didn't mind much, sometimes there was only room for so much sarcasm between them.

 

After about ten minutes of indulging the press Bruce finally managed to talk his way out of any more questions, probably making some sorry excuse about being too tired, and made his way to the private entrance. Gordon pushed away from the wall with his elbows and opened the door to the private hallway. He closed the door behind him seeing Bruce come up the walkway – charcoal gray suit, shiny black tie, brown hair combed neatly back and a smile that suggested he was more than happy to see the commissioner. Gordon stopped just a few feet from the billionaire and Bruce took the last remaining steps between them, dropping his briefcase to the floor.

 

Bruce circled his arms around Gordon tightly, embracing him as if for the first time in months (it had in fact only been two days). Gordon felt the younger man's lips against his, tongue coaxing his lips open. He obliged in a sweet surrender, tasting the pungent mint of the obvious Tic-Tac Bruce had been sucking on just before. The younger man pushed Gordon up against the wall, running a hand through his hair, tugging on it gently. Gordon had to bring his hands up to Bruce's chest and push him away before someone caught them.

 

“Down boy,” Gordon said breathlessly. “There's bound to be someone else coming up here any minute.”

 

“You know, Jim. I don't really care who finds out anymore.” Bruce smiled wearily and smoothed down the lapels on his suit. He reached down to pick up his briefcase.

 

“People would expect it of you. I don't think my reputation could handle the gossip.” Gordon retorted. He started for the door, Bruce not far behind. He glanced at his watch as he opened the door, allowing Bruce to walk out before him.

 

Bruce made a grunting noise, as if he didn't quite agree with the commissioner, but he didn't argue the point either. “When does your niece's flight get in.”

 

“In about thirty minutes,” Gordon replied as he let the door slide shut behind them. “Just enough time for me to ask you for a favor.”

 

Bruce stopped, turning around to meet the older man's gaze. “Why Commissioner Gordon, in the airport of all places?” He looked as if he was considering something, squinting at Gordon accusingly. “I suppose the bathroom would be the safest place not to be seen.”

 

“Bruce...” Gordon sighed. “That's not what I meant. Can you get your mind out of the gutter for two seconds and be serious?” Bruce was staring at him in mild astonishment, but he let it fade into a firm stare.

 

“What happened?” As if he had known already and Gordon didn't need to say much else.

 

“Roger and Thelma were killed yesterday. Car accident.” It felt strange to say it; it felt... good. Gordon didn't want to admit to the later, because it just seemed wrong.

 

He looked at Bruce who was fidgeting, trying to figure out how Gordon felt so he could respond accordingly. Gordon sighed and took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was all so sudden and so quick that his head was still reeling.

 

“Jim? Are you okay?” Bruce voice seemed distant and yet when Gordon looked up he was just a few inches away.

 

“I'm fine.” Gordon let out a heavy breath, placing his hands on his hips. “I talked to Alfred last night. Got a good perspective from him on a few things.”

 

“Then what is this favor you need of me?” Gordon could tell Bruce was feeling a little lost, maybe not sure where he could fit into this situation, especially if Gordon had already gone to Alfred for advice.

 

“If by some chance she doesn't take the news well and becomes overly hysterical, I could really use your expertise on the matter. Maybe even for you to talk to her if it comes to that.” Gordon smiled at Bruce, a little more sincerely than he felt, but he needed Bruce to know that he needed him during this time, both for him and for Babs.

 

Bruce reached out and squeezed Gordon's hand. “Consider it done.”

 

Gordon's thoughts went directly back to how to tell Babs. He kept telling himself not to think about it, that the time would present itself and it would come naturally, just like everything else with his job. Bruce seemed to notice his worry.

 

“Jim,” Bruce started, placing a hand at the small of his back and inching a little closer to him. Usually Gordon would have told him to back off in public, but right now he didn't care. He let Bruce trace his fingers up and down the small of his back, a soothing sensation that helped calm his nerves a little. “You can do it.” The gleam in Bruce's eyes reminded Gordon briefly of the nine-year-boy sitting in the police station, trembling. He closed his eyes, fists tightly balled up at his sides, taking a deep breath to still his emotions. This was not the time for reminiscing.

 

Bruce grasped Gordon's hand tightly in his own and pulled him close. Gordon was grateful that the terminal was pretty empty, and the people who passed didn't pay them any more attention than they would anyone else; or if they did, Bruce didn't seem to notice and Gordon had at that moment stopped caring what everyone else thought. He needed this brief moment to be surrounded by the one thing that made sense in his life before complicating the rest of it for him and his niece.

 

“I can't let her go to a foster home, Bruce. I'm the only family she has.” He opened his eyes and looked at Bruce, who now had a small smile on his face, one that showed caring and understanding – everything Jim Gordon needed right then.

 

“If I know Commissioner James Gordon well enough, he'll do what he knows is best,” Bruce said simply and squeezed the older man's fingers a little tighter to reassure him that the billionaire had all the faith in the world that Gordon would do what had to be done – what needed to be done.

 

He wanted to respond, but his attention went to the tarmac where the plane from Chicago had touched down and was pulling up to the gate and to let the passengers off. Bruce brought Gordon's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers before letting go of his hand completely, keeping a relatively safe distance. Gordon rubbed his hand with his fingers where Bruce's lips had touched it and wished that he didn't have to be here doing this, but was instead at the Manor with Bruce, rolling around his bed and enjoying life. He would have killed for that moment; it had been months since they did anything, having mutually agreed to take things a little slower and allow Bruce more time to find himself again.

 

But Gordon still wanted it.

 

He had to shake his head to bring his attention back to the task at hand, watching the flow of people from the plane. Many passengers gawked at Bruce as they passed and one, a young girl stopped just short of Gordon and Bruce. She was tall for her age, long in the torso, with an athletic build but slim through the waist, and her hair was a golden brown with tints of red, a reminder of her Irish heritage. She took a few stepped forward, adjusting her glasses on her nose, and smiled brightly at Gordon, her light blue eyes sparkling in her obviously good mood.

 

“Uncle Jim!” Babs exclaimed as she threw her arms around him tightly. They were rather close; she visited more often than her parents had and used to stay with him, Barbara and the kids for the summer. He'd consider her one of his own in a heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up off the ground in a big hug.

 

“You've gotten so big,” he said quietly, his voice barely making it past his lips. He pushed her away to arm's length to get a better look at her, shaking his head in disbelief at how much she had grown up in the few years he hadn't seen her. “You definitely have the Gordon blood.”

 

Babs rolled her eyes. “I'm not sure that's such a good thing,” she teased with a grin, and her eyes shifted to Bruce who was in a state of awe, staring at the two of them with gentle eyes. He moved forward with his hand out and she took it.

 

“Bruce Wayne,” he said in a tone that mimicked the softness that had been in Gordon's voice. “You're uncle has told me so much about you.”

 

Gordon started to walk towards the baggage claim, guiding Babs with one hand on her shoulder as she glared at Bruce in a bit of disbelief. “He's a colleague,” Gordon explained, and he watched as Bruce gave him a look; they had agreed that with family they would be open and honest about their relationship, as part of the trust pact they had conjured up. Gordon shrugged and gave him a look of “I'll explain it to her later” to the younger man. Bruce just rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh,” Babs said as they reached the claim area. She looked around a bit as they waited and then glanced at Gordon with confusion on her face. “Are Mom and Dad waiting for us somewhere else?”

 

There was a brief moment of silence and Gordon looked to Bruce who gave him that stern, grim unemotional face and then looked away. “I'm going to go and get the car,” he said and stole the keys from Gordon's fingers before the older man even had a chance to protest.

 

Babs was staring at him now her eyes pleading as if she already knew what might be coming. Gordon sighed and glanced around for a spot that was a little out of the way, a little more private. He lead her to a bench away from the baggage area and sat her down. He got down on his knees in front of her, a little more personal this way. She swallowed visibly; her hands started to shake, and Gordon covered them with his own to steady her.

 

“Babs, sweetheart, they aren't coming,” Gordon said and he tried to remember what Alfred had told him about treating her like an adult, that she would be grateful later that he hadn't buttered it up for her.

 

Babs was shaking her head, the glint of tears showing in her eyes. She didn't seem to comprehend at first, maybe her uncle wasn't being truthful with her, maybe it was all a joke. “I don't understand.”

 

He moved up to sit next to her on the bench, her gaze on him the whole time. He looked her in the eye sternly, making sure he had her complete attention. “They're were killed yesterday in a car accident on the way to Gotham.”

 

“No,” she said with a shake of her head, denying it. Gordon knew this was a normal part of the process; its what everyone did when first told. It had to sink it, it had to become reality before anything else could slip past her lips.

 

Gordon wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close to him, pulling her head to his chest and resting his chin gently on the top of her head. She was crying now, pulling her glasses away from her eyes and rubbing at the tears that had started to swell up. He smoothed her hair down with his free hand and she continued to sob. At that moment Gordon felt so helpless. This was nothing like the night he had sat in front of a young Bruce Wayne and tried to console him. Bruce had gotten through the shock by then and was at the numb stage, barely feeling and holding back the tears that threatened because it was what he was supposed to do. Maybe that was just because Bruce had watched his parents die. Babs didn't have that, didn't have the moment to tell them one last time she loved them or would miss them.

 

Gordon held her tightly to him and she clung to his shoulders letting out an agonizing moan. Her reality was about to change and Gordon knew she was finally coming to grips with the facts. “Shhh,” he whispered to her and closed his eyes, praying to God that it would pass quickly, that she would be stronger because of this. That she would let herself be at peace with her parents passing.

 

And then Gordon felt more numb about his brother's death than before. He didn't cry, he didn't feel it. He'd built himself up for Babs and by God he was going to stay that way.

 

\-------

 

“I don't ever want to do that again.” Gordon said. He had his hands in his pockets, and was looking out towards the setting sun on the back porch of Wayne Manor. Babs had fallen asleep in the guest room after insisting she be left alone for a bit. Gordon had come outside with Bruce to get some air before Alfred served dinner.

 

“She'll be alright,” Bruce replied. He had changed from his business suit to blue jeans and a black t-shirt, and was going barefoot. June nights in Gotham were extremely warm and Gordon couldn't say he minded seeing Bruce dressed so casually.

 

“I don't know what to do. Their will is coming in from Chicago tomorrow with their lawyer. This will ultimately tell us where Babs will be going.” Not that he didn't know already; he was her only family and if he didn't want to keep her around she'd be moved to a foster home. Gordon couldn't do that to his only niece. “I wish I didn't have to deal with this. I've got too much on my plate.”

 

Bruce moved behind the older man and began to rub his shoulders with his long fingers. He leaned in towards Gordon's ear, running a hand over the side of his neck softly. “Sounds like you need a vacation,” Bruce whispered sensually.

 

Gordon groaned and leaned back into Bruce's touch, and in turn Bruce wrapped his arms around the commissioner's shoulders and placed a small kiss on the side of his neck. “You know I can't do that. Not right now.”

 

“Then, at least let me give you a mini-vacation tonight?” Bruce mumbled as he continued to plant small kisses up Gordon's neck and along his jaw line. Gordon closed his eyes and found himself bending his neck to the side to allow Bruce better access. He pressed himself back against the younger man, reaching behind him, grabbing Bruce's outer thighs with his hands and pulling him closer. It amazed Gordon just how distracting Bruce could be in any given situation. He should have been inside consoling his niece or gathering more information on his brother's case, but instead he was finding himself mesmerized by Bruce's scent, his casual, yet sensual, touch and the way he knew just where to glide his fingers to send Gordon over the edge. It was wrong, but so right.

 

“I thought we agreed to wait a while –” Gordon started, his voice hitching in his throat when Bruce began to grind his hips against him, hands wandering down Gordon's chest slowly in feather light touches that sent goosebumps over the older man's skin and a twitch to his groin.

 

“I'm tired of waiting. Every time I see you I feel so damned tempted to just take you aside and have my way with you, Jim. Every inch of me wants to be close to you, to touch you. I'm afraid if I don't get that soon I'm going to do something I might regret.” Bruce's voiced rasped a little, breaking a bit as he groaned his wants. Gordon felt himself being turned around, and then he was looking into Bruce's hazel eyes, returning the playboy's gaze of desire. Bruce bent and kissed him, one hand at the small of his back and the other grasping at Gordon's hair.

 

“Bruce...” Gordon mumbled beneath the lips that were parting against his, searching for the place that would end this night in a desperate, passionate entanglement. Gordon wanted to tell him no, that it really was for their own good – the good of their relationship. But Bruce's tongue was exploring his mouth, and Gordon found his words were swallowed by the billionaire, and his sense of what was right was thrown out of his mind.

 

Bruce snaked a hand down the front of Gordon's pants, rubbing his erection through the silky cloth of the suit fabric. “Don't deny me, Jim.” He sounded desperate, panting into Gordon's mouth as he spoke. His fingers fumbled with the zipper on the older man's pants and Gordon attempted to adjust himself to give Bruce more access without moving too far away from him.

 

“I wasn't... going to.” Gordon could barely finish the phrase. He let out a groan as Bruce's palm wrapped tightly around the shaft of his penis and began to stroke diligently, while placing softer kisses at the nape of his neck. Gordon reached behind him and took hold of the porch railing to steady himself, his free hand weaving into Bruce's thick mane of soft, dark brown locks.

 

Bruce had started to unbutton Gordon's pants the rest of the way when an “ahem” came from the back door of the Manor. Gordon looked up as Bruce moved in front of Gordon as a shield. Alfred stood at the door, his head turned away, but Gordon could still tell he was rolling his eyes at their rather public display of affection – if it could even be called that.

 

“I've come to inform the masters that their dinner is served and that I will be going to fetch Miss Gordon,” he said, rather accusingly. Gordon had already tucked himself back in and was standing, straightening himself out. Alfred looked in their direction when he thought it was safe. Bruce walked past Alfred and into the kitchen and Gordon followed behind, Alfred reached out for a moment to stop him, a hand on his shoulder. “I think it's an improvement.”

 

Gordon gave the butler a wispy smile, almost shy about it, but nodded just the same. “I'll go get Babs, Alfred.” And the older gentleman nodded and went off to Bruce's side, probably to lecture him about his behavior.

 

Gordon walked up the stairs to the guest room and knocked on the door. He heard footsteps and then the door opened and Babs peeked her head out to blink at him groggily. Her eyes were puffy and red and Gordon knew she had still been crying, but at least she wasn't at the moment. She smiled weakly at him, straightening her hair as she stepped out of the room and shut the door. After their talk in the airport she had kept to herself and seemed more sullen. He couldn't blame her. If her mood didn't improve in a few days he'd throw Bruce at her for a good heart-to-heart “my parents died too” conversation. Gordon found he sort of hoped it didn't come to that, he'd hate for Bruce to give Babs the wrong impression about how to deal with her anger and frustration. Gordon really didn't need her getting the idea that dressing as a bat was a good way to alleviate emotional pain.

 

“Dinner?” she asked as they headed down the stairs together.

 

“Yes. I think Alfred made lasagna.” Gordon said. Babs reached the bottom of the stairs first and smiled at him a little more genuinely this time. He returned her smile as if to say “Yes, I told him it was your favorite.”

 

\------

 

“Hi, Barbara.” Gordon said into his cell phone. His ex-wife had called just as Gordon was about to head upstairs to Bruce's bedroom.

 

“I got your message last night. How is Babs?” she asked; she seemed very concerned. She and Babs had always gotten along very well in past visits.

 

“Oh, she's doing better than I thought she would be. Barb, you know it might make her feel a lot better to have more family around her – ” Gordon started to say but Barbara cut him off.

 

“I'm not taking her in, Jim. These two are hard enough these days.”

 

Gordon let out an exasperated sigh. “I wasn't going to suggest that. I was merely going to ask that if she ends up staying here with me could Jimmy and Susan come down for a few weeks and spend some time with her. I really think she'd enjoy that.”

 

Barbara was silent and then her voice was softer, as if she felt terrible for having accused him. “Oh, Jim. That's a wonderful idea. The kids have been asking to come and see you and Bruce for a while now. They get out of school on Wednesday. Can I call you then and schedule something?”

 

“That'd be fine.” Gordon was relieved. If things went as he foresaw them, he'd be Babs' parental guardian indefinitely, and having some family around her would make the transition a little easier. “Thanks, Barb.”

 


	3. Chapter Three

It was midnight in Wayne Manor, and Jim Gordon thought that sleep would have been easier to come by. He lay awake, staring up at the moonlit ceiling, just the top sheet covering him lightly. Alone and restless, he could feel the emptiness of the room surround him, closing in. He was beginning to think he should have gone back to his apartment, but he didn't feel he could take Babs there in the state of disaster it was given due to his lack of time to clean. He'd have to fix that; they couldn't stay here forever.

 

Gordon rolled onto his stomach, one arm hanging over the side of the bed, and stared absentmindedly out the window, watching the light reflect off the water in the pool in the back courtyard. He was somewhat relieved that Bruce had decided to go out on patrol tonight instead of staying in; Gordon needed the time think and gather himself for the next day, when he would have to meet with the lawyer and check in at MCU to see if Stephens had finished his investigation of the car accident. He had to be prepared to hear the worst but wanted to expect the least worst scenario. _Yes, the best. Think positive, Jim._ He had to; it would be the only way he was going to get any sleep tonight.

 

A few more minutes of telling himself that everything would be fine and nothing awful was going to be felt in the investigation, and he found his lids begin to droop and his mind ease into blankness.

 

When he dozed off he dreamed of the other night – seeing his brother's car a mangled mess on the side of the road, the blood splatter, the bits of torn flesh on shards of broken windshield glass. It was a nightmare. And then there was Babs, and she kept showing up awkwardly in strange places through the dream, constantly there a reminder to him that he was impressionable at her age, and dealing with the emotions and hormones of a young teenaged girl – all things Gordon knew nothing about. The real nightmare was coming to the realization that he'd be the one to take care of her now, to raise her properly – a second chance at becoming the father he knew he would never be to his own two children.

 

It scared him more than he'd want to admit.

 

He woke in a cold sweat, laying on his side, sheets half thrown off of him. He felt a pair of warm fingers caressing the curve of his spine slowly as if counting his vertebra. Gordon didn't move or open his eyes; he didn't need to look to know who was laying in bed beside him, touching him in all the right places, making him feel the way only one person could: Bruce Wayne. The younger man lifted the sheet and slid his warm body up against Gordon's half curled form and rested his hand on the older man's hip bone.

 

Bruce nuzzled his nose into the nape of Gordon's neck. “Are you awake?” A whisper almost as soft as the caresses that came along with it. Gordon didn't answer, he merely pushed his back into Bruce's chest in a vain attempt to get a little closer. “I'm sorry.”

 

“What are you sorry for?” Gordon couldn't be sure what Bruce meant. Sorry for his loss? Sorry for the case he now had to handle? Sorry for...? Sometimes Bruce left him completely baffled, especially when he came back with answers whose meanings Gordon couldn't quite place.

 

Bruce brushed his lips against the other man's ear. “Everything.” He squeezed Gordon tightly to him and rested his head on his shoulder. Gordon wanted to ask him exactly what he meant by that; everything could be anything or it could have just been Bruce's way of apologizing in advance for something he might have caused. Gordon didn't push it. The younger man's breath had started to slow into a soft rhythm, so Gordon pulled Bruce's arm further around him and fell back to sleep, this time dreamless.

 

\------

 

By morning Jim Gordon had nearly forgotten about Bruce's incoherent late night apology. He could have chalked it up to a lot of things, but he chose to believe that Bruce was merely very tired and rambling before drifting off into his own slumber. He was sure that Bruce wasn't going to bring it up again; in fact he probably wouldn't even remember saying it. So Gordon decided to forget about it and move on with his day.

 

He slipped out of bed, careful to place Bruce's arm gently on the mattress – so as to not wake him. Gordon found his suit on the chair by the bathroom door. He pulled it on and found his tie, letting it dangle around his neck as he fixed his cuffs in the bathroom mirror. He saw Bruce stir behind him and heard inaudible mumbling from the playboy as he rolled onto his back. Gordon walked out of the bathroom, fumbling with his tie as he went.

 

Bruce stared groggily at him from the bed. Usually this was about the time that Bruce started in on how early it was and where the hell was his coffee, but today he didn't say any of that; today his expression held stiff and his eyes were focused as if he had been awake for quite some time. Gordon held the younger man's gaze as he finished tying the knot in his tie and took a few steps for the bed to find his shoes beside it.

 

“I have that meeting in about an hour with the lawyer, and then I have to go meet Gerry at MCU, see what he's got on the case.” Gordon sat down on the bed beside Bruce, back to him, picking up his shoes to put them on. Bruce continued to stare, watching the older man's every move as if to study him, his eyes never leaving him. He knew Bruce well enough to know what he was thinking.

 

“Garcia hasn't even brought it up in over two weeks. I think he's wary of what the consequences might be if you aren't totally well, ” Gordon said as he finished slipping on his brown dress shoes. He and Bruce rarely brought up the the incidents of the past March; they had chosen to “forgive and forget and move on”, whereas the mayor had not. It was understandable for Garcia to be hesitant about allowing Bruce to work with MCU again. It was odd, really, because Bruce had started out hating the fact that he had to check in with anyone at all, and now he was upset because he couldn't. Maybe Bruce was learning something about teamwork after all.

 

Bruce scooted across the bed to sit next to Gordon, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. “I'm past that.” Bruce's voice was low, soft and almost apologetic. “It feels so pointless to patrol every night, knowing I can't come back and talk it over with you.” _Or with anyone, for that matter_ , Gordon thought. Garcia had told Gordon that if Bruce tried to discuss a case with him then he would need to tell Bruce to back down, and if he still continued to try, they would resort to something more drastic. Bruce didn't deserve any of that, but Garcia had valid reasons to fear what Bruce might do, and the precautions were understandable. Bruce also saw this and respected it – but it didn't mean he felt good about it.

 

“Well,” Gordon said as he pushed himself up off the bed with his hands, “hopefully that'll change soon.” He gave Bruce a wistful smile, one that was partially hidden under his mustache, and which Bruce had deemed 'cute'.

 

“Yeah...” Bruce drifted off with a sigh. It was obviously bothering him more than he was going to admit to Gordon. Maybe he could talk to Garcia later and work something out; Bruce was more than ready to start doing his job full-time again.

 

Gordon, who had for a long time been heedful of showing any real sentiments to Bruce, bent over the younger man and kissed him tenderly on the lips, one hand on the side of his face. It was a softer moment than they often shared, but Gordon was learning to take full advantage of every situation to show Bruce how he really felt. They knew without saying that tomorrow something could tear them apart again, and he would have lost the chance to let Bruce know. Even still, it was hard for Gordon to grasp the phrase that always stuck in his throat, the three words that would someday make or break them, even though he knew it would ultimately bind them, there was still the insecurity that it might not. It was, even now, best left unsaid for the time being.

 

Bruce parted his lips against Gordon's. “Sorry we didn't get to our 'mini-vacation' last night.” Gordon wanted to say that he wasn't at all disappointed considering the days events. He also knew that Bruce, having been out of town for a few days, needed to get out into Gotham's night air and check up on his city. Gordon would always come second, just as Bruce would always come second; but they knew that about each other, and there was an understanding between them.

 

“I know you'll make it up to me.” Gordon whispered, feeling Bruce's hot breath against his mouth, tasting his lips and wishing he had more time to explore the ferocity of the billionaire's mouth.

 

“I always do.” Bruce mashed their lips together tightly, tongue lapping hungrily at Gordon's. It had been a month since their make up, since Bruce had admitted to needing help – to needing Gordon – and though they had taken things a bit slower they both had a renewed sex drive that just kept getting stronger with each passing day that they didn't do anything about it. Alfred had started calling them rabid teenagers and asked if they could kindly keep their escapades to their own private quarters. Gordon knew he didn't mean it, that Alfred was happy to see Bruce making so much progress since his spiraling downfall in March. But, they did need to learn to keep themselves in check, otherwise one of these days it would get out of hand in the wrong place.

 

Gordon pulled back and Bruce stood with him. “I gotta get going.” And Bruce smiled at him so sincerely, so openly, that Gordon wished he had a camera, because he was sure he would never see that smile again.

 

\------

 

Babs was quiet on the drive to the courthouse to meet with the lawyer. She didn't say much while they were there either. She sat, slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest and looking away from the man presenting the will. She obviously didn't want to be there, and Gordon couldn't blame her; she had just learned of her parents' death yesterday and was already forced to reconcile with it by hearing what would ultimately happen to her.

 

And then it happened – the moment where Gordon felt his chest tighten as the lawyer announced guardianship of Babs. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it, or even that he was hoping for a different outcome, but he still held his breath until the man was through speaking, allowing himself to breathe again only when he was sure he had heard correctly.

 

Barbara Gordon, his niece, was now his legal responsibility until she turned eighteen, at which time she would inherit what little money and property her parents had owned. She looked over at her uncle with water-filled eyes and searched him for a positive reaction. Gordon, more relieved than anything, smiled and reached out his hand to her. She took it, and Gordon knew everything was going to be different now.

 

The lawyer asked Babs to wait in the hall while he talked to Gordon. “Mister Gordon, I know you expressed some interest in actually adopting your niece, but that might not necessarily be needed.”

 

“Excuse me?” Gordon asked. “Not necessary?” This was getting a little weird for him, and he wasn't sure he liked the direction of the conversation.

 

“There was a separate letter that Thelma Gordon had attached to the will privately. Its addressed to you only. Did you want to read it, Mister Gordon, or shall I give you short version?”

 

“Short.”

 

The lawyer took out the envelope and held it out for Gordon to take. “You're Babs' biological father.”

 

\------

The ride home from the meeting was deafeningly quiet for Babs, but that was okay. She didn't feel like talking or even listening, for that matter. Everything had happened so quickly that she barely had a moment to really understand her situation now. She was suddenly orphaned and left to the care of her Uncle Jim. She loved her uncle to pieces, but she found herself second guessing his parenting abilities. Her Aunt Barbara had left him and taken the kids, leaving him a bachelor. Babs could only guess what his living arrangements were like, let alone how well he'd be able to take care of himself and her as well. She was suddenly grateful that her mother had taught her to cook, clean and keep house. She had a feeling she might need it now.

 

Uncle Jim reached over and turned the radio on to break the silence. She wanted to tell him to turn it off, but he gave her a smile that she found so sincere that she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead she listened to the dull hum of the song over the static as they drove through a tunnel. It sounded exactly the same as her own thoughts, drowned out by the noise of the world around it, slowly fading into a nothingness.

 

She let her mind drift to thoughts of her mother baking pies in the kitchen on the days that her father refused to come home after work; he always preferred to be at the bar, said he needed the time to cool down after a long day. Babs had believed him for years, even when he abused her mother in front of her own eyes. She had denied that it had happened, especially when he kept telling her that it was just a dream and that she needed to stop thinking so cruelly of him.

 

She wouldn't miss her father. She'd known for a few year now that he was scum and had lied to her and her mother more often than not. But her mother she would miss. Her best friend, the one person she went to for everything. It would be strange to come home from school and not have warm cookies waiting for her, or be able to talk about the latest gossip at school.

 

But she found she wasn't nearly as sad or heartbroken as she had thought she would be. The pain was obviously there inching its way through her heart, but none of it seemed real. Wasn't she supposed to feel something other than this? Uncle Jim kept telling her that she was going through shock and that it would be normal later to start feeling sad. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. There was no point in thinking about it.

 

She looked to her uncle and sighed. There were going to be a lot of changes to get used to. Everything was going to be different now.

 

\------

 

Gerard Stephens tossed the file in front of the commissioner and took a seat across from him. He sat back in the chair, hands folded over his stomach and waited for the other man to open it before saying anything. He didn't want to be the one to tell Jim – hell, he didn't even want to be the one that had to work on this case – but there wasn't anyone else Jim trusted, and Gerry knew it.

 

He watched Jim open the folder and start flipping through the reports at a rather quick pace, obviously searching for something significant. Finally Jim's fingers found the yellow sheet of paper from the impound where the car had been taken and given a thorough combing. Jim's lips parted a little, showing a bare glint of his teeth just under the wiry hairs of his mustache. Gerry knew that look; it was his “I can't believe this bullshit” look mixed with his “dear God why do I have to be commissioner” look. In most circumstances Gerry would have laughed at him, lightened the mood, but not today. The event itself had not been more than two days ago and was still too fresh to make remarks concerning it or Jim's feelings on the matter.

 

Jim placed the paper back down on the desk and stared at Gerry over the rim of his glasses, but he said nothing. Gerry knew he was waiting for the lieutenant to start explaining. “It's just as it says, Jim.”

 

“They're sure it was a hit and run?” Jim asked as he closed the folder and pushed it to the side of his desk.

 

Gerry sighed. “The car hit the tree from the front, but after further investigation of the vehicle, there was damage to the rear driver 's side, looks like someone rammed right into it. No other cars at the scene, no witnesses. I'm so sorry, Jim.” Because now it was clearly not an accident at all, but murder. For whatever reason, someone wanted Jim Gordon's family dead. Gerry had his ideas, but he wasn't about to voice them – not yet, anyway.

 

\------

“You're what?” Bruce asked as he leaned up against the back of one of the sofas in the living room. The look on his face suggested to Gordon that he was very surprised, but at least not disgusted.

 

“You heard right,” Gordon said with a sigh. Bruce just stared at him blankly, obviously waiting for him to continue. “It was, oh seventeen year or so ago – a little before moving here, before Barbara. Thelma and I dated for a few months, but she left me for my brother. I didn't even think about it at the time. She had Babs nine months later and Roger married her just before. That's when I met Barbara and we moved to Chicago soon after.”

 

“You had no idea that Babs could have been yours?” Bruce stepped towards Gordon and put a hand on the older man's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

 

“No. Bruce, it honestly never crossed my mind. I mean, it not set in stone yet, so I'm not going to tell Babs until we're certain. It's going to require some DNA tests to be sure.” Gordon had his arms folded over his chest, looking out the window in deep thought. He wasn't sure how he had never noticed, never pieced everything together with Babs, and how Thelma had seemed more upset than his own brother when Gordon and Barbara moved to Gotham. It should have been obvious – Thelma should have told him.

 

“And what if she isn't?” Bruce's question brought Gordon out of his thoughts and he turned his head to the billionaire.

 

“Isn't? Oh, my daughter? Well, I'll still adopt her, as I planned to anyway. She needs a family and I know I'm not much of a father or house keeper, but I'm better than the nothing she has right now.” Gordon explained. He felt Bruce wrap an arm around him, the other hand taking hold of the older man's chin and dragging his face towards his so that their eyes met.

 

“You've been talking to Alfred too much,” Bruce teased. He dropped his voice down to something a little softer. “I think you're doing the right thing, no matter how the situation ends up. She's going to need you more than ever now. She's going to need all the love and friendship from you that she can stand, and maybe then some. Just know, she might not want it, but she's going to need it.”

 

Gordon stared at Bruce as if he'd been replaced with someone else completely. Bruce was great with Jimmy and Susan, but Gordon had always suspected that was because he had to be nice. Now, Bruce was starting to show signs of actually caring beyond his comfort zone. Gordon couldn't help but feel just a little proud of Bruce, for stepping out of his perimeter and actually leveling to Babs' perspective. After all, hadn't Bruce lost his parents as a child too? Maybe he knew better than anyone what Babs was feeling right now.

 

“Don't look at me that way.” Bruce's voice cut through Gordon's thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He looked at Bruce and shook his head.

 

“This doesn't bother you at all? That there will be a teenager running amok around through our personal lives?” Gordon was only being half serious, a part of him teasing because he knew Bruce liked his privacy, especially when it came to being Batman. He wasn't sure how or if they would ever explain that to Babs.

 

“Everything will be different. Very different. But I think we'll be able to adapt.”

 


	4. Four

Jim Gordon opened the door to his quaint, three bedroom apartment allowing Babs to enter before him. He hadn't had time to clean up, no expecting to have to entertain at his own place. He looked over her shoulder at the piles of paper work and mail on the small kitchen table, the dishes stacked in the sink, and the cupboards half open from a few days ago when he had been looking for clean glass. Babs wasn't moving and Gordon had to push her forward so he could shut the door behind them. He thought maybe he should have let her stay at Wayne Manor one more night so he could at least have picked up a little bit before bringing her here. Too late for that.

“Sorry about the mess, Babs,” he grumbled, throwing his keys onto the kitchen counter, the one spot there wasn't a mess. He watched as Babs shrugged her shoulders, eyes still scanning the room in horror. Gordon started to feel ten times worse. “Let me show you your room.” He reached down and took her suitcase from her hand and walked down the hall to the guest room. He pushed the door open and placed her suitcase down next to the bed.

Babs followed slowly and Gordon couldn't help but notice her relief when she saw the guest room to be immaculately clean. Gordon rarely used the room and Alfred had been the last person to use it, so it was possibly the cleanest room in the whole apartment. She stepped in a little further, glancing at the pure black and white color scheme of the room. Gordon noticed.

“You can redecorate however you want.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him with a weak smile. “I'm gonna go clean up while you get settled.” He wanted to add that he was there for her if and when she wanted to talk, but the sentiment didn't make it past his thoughts. He had tried that earlier and basically got shot down by the rush of teenage angst. She would come to him when she was ready.

“Thanks, Uncle Jim.” Babs picked her suitcase up and placed it on the bed, and Gordon retraced his steps out of the room. He walked back down the hall and to the kitchen, where he stood for a good minute just staring at the mess; he honestly wished he had Alfred here to help him. Where to start was the question, and the answer was clearly to load the dishwasher with everything in the sink. It was a good start, at least one that would make the place a bit more appealing. 

\------

Around six that evening there was a knock at the door. Gordon was sitting at the kitchen table filing his bills – the last of the mess. He looked up at Babs, who was sitting at the opposite end staring at the screen of her laptop. She didn't even flinch at the knock, nor did she look up as if wondering who it might be. Gordon hated how cold and uncaring she seemed to have become since yesterday. He hoped it didn't last long, and that slowly she would become the beam of sunshine she used to be. However, if Bruce was any indication of how kids reacted to their parents' untimely deaths, then Gordon had room to worry.

Gordon pushed away from the table and stood. He walked to the door, peering through the peephole first. He wasn't surprised to see Bruce's rather bored face staring at the door. Gordon turned the handle and opened the door, gesturing the younger man inside. Bruce walked in carrying a few brown bags, which he handed to Gordon.

“I know how you are with food in this place,” Bruce said with a smirk. He was dressed in one of his Armani suits, a contrast of dark and light gray pinstripes, a stark-white dress shirt and a shiny, deep green tie that Gordon swore made Bruce's eyes even more beautiful; he really couldn't help but stare and feel a little awkward, having changed into his holey jeans and an old Chicago Police Academy t-shirt that was nearly twenty-five years old. 

Gordon took the food and placed it on the table. He took the last of his bills, filed them away and placed the mini file box back on top of the refrigerator. He looked at Babs who had lowered the screen of the laptop, and was staring at the brown bags on the table. Gordon opened a few of them and set out what was inside, which happened to be lots and lots of fries and hamburgers. He stared at Bruce, knowing full well the billionaire didn't eat this kind food, meaning he and Babs were going to be forced to gorge themselves. Gordon suddenly felt the need to have a cigarette, but by the way Bruce's eyes were burning into him, he knew that wasn't likely to happen while he was around.

“Thank you,” Babs said quietly as Bruce sat down to her left, hands folded on the table. 

Bruce smiled genuinely at her. “I know the kind of cook your uncle is. It consists of bread, peanut butter and, if you're lucky, some jelly.” He glanced over at Gordon as he said it, but the older man was looking at his niece and not paying attention to Bruce at all. Babs had smiled – a real, heartfelt smile showing the beginnings of a giggle behind it. Gordon felt the knot that had been sitting in his stomach since Friday evening begin to unravel a little. At first Gordon was afraid that having Bruce around Babs wouldn't be such a good idea; that his often sour, serious attitude would rub off on her. What Gordon had forgotten was that Bruce did have a sense of humor now, and then he and had this weird ability to relate to children, even if he didn't want to admit it. Gordon immediately threw the notion of having to separate his life with Bruce from his life with Babs out the window. He could make this work – they could make this work.

Gordon would need to be honest with her first. He really had wanted to wait a while longer to tell her about him and Bruce, but there was never going to be a moment where something like that would be any easier to say. It would be better if she heard it now rather than finding out on her own and feeling betrayed that Gordon hadn't been honest with her. Treat her as an adult; she'll respect you more for it.

Except Gordon wasn't even sure how to bring it up. It wasn't something you just blurted out over the dinner table and expected the other person to swallow down with their food. He glanced at Bruce, who moved his eyes from Babs to Gordon for a brief moment. He gave Gordon a small grin that suggested he knew what the older man was thinking. Bruce tipped his head a bit, the way he often did when he had a trick or two up his sleeve.

“What were you looking at on your laptop?” Bruce asked Babs, who had just taken a bite of one of her burgers, and hurried her chewing to answer him.

She swallowed. “Checking out the system for the local library.” System? Gordon wasn't sure what that meant, if she was hacking or what. He wasn't too smart with computers; the most he could do was check his e-mail. Bruce, however, seemed to know exactly what she was speaking of.

“Planning on doing a lot of reading this summer? Books you need to read before school starts?” Bruce leaned his elbow on the table held his chin in his hand as he questioned the sixteen-year-old. 

“I've already read the required books for senior year. But there are a few books I'd like to check out that I didn't have time to read this year.” She was smiling again, and Gordon began to wonder what it was about Bruce that made her relax around him and want to talk.

“Senior year?” Bruce asked. Gordon almost expected him to give her the dumbfounded playboy face that he gave to anyone who said something that “confused” him – but he didn't. Bruce was giving Babs his full attention and kept his face as serious and open as he could. Everything was already changing Gordon could feel it and he wasn't sure now if it was the sort of change he wanted.

“She's smart,” Gordon said as he poked his head into their conversation. “Always has been.” And this time Gordon received the same smile from his niece that she had given Bruce, and it warmed his heart.

“She must take after her uncle.” Bruce shot Gordon a flirtatious grin that made Gordon roll his eyes. Babs giggled.

She looked at Gordon. “Don't think you two have to tone yourselves down for me.” And with that she glanced at Bruce and then to Gordon, raising her eyebrows and gesturing between them with her hands. “You two make a show of trying not to look obvious. But really, it just makes you more obvious.” Not even two days had passed and Babs had caught on; Gordon wondered if it really was that obvious.

Bruce laughed. “Definitely smarter than you gave her credit for, Jim.”

 

\------

Jim had gone out, said he needed to go to the corner store to pick up a few things. Bruce wasn't stupid. He had begged Jim to give up smoking. But like any addicting habit, the older man had trouble breaking it. So Bruce knew that Jim had really just gone out for a smoke and to walk off the smell a bit so he wouldn't think Bruce would notice.

Too bad Jim often forgot that he couldn't hide things from Bruce, even if he still wasn't one-hundred percent. Bruce, after all, was Batman.

He sat down on the couch, arms splayed over the back of it, legs crossed. Babs was sitting on the floor next to the outlet with her laptop, charging it as she looked a few things up. Bruce just watched her. He hadn't known a lot of kids aside from those he had known when he was in school himself and Gordon's biological children, which left him pretty unsure how to act around them. He liked Babs though; she was smart and full of life, even given the current situation. She was going to be good for Jim, giving him something else to worry about besides Bruce. Bruce could take care of himself.

“How long have you and Uncle Jim being dating?” Babs asked as she typed a bit on her keyboard, glancing up at Bruce over the top of the screen.

“It's been off and on for around nine months.” Bruce answered casually.

“Off and on?”

“We've had a few rough patches. But nothing we couldn't over-come.” Bruce uncrossed his legs and moved forward on the couch motioning at her laptop. “You aren't blogging about this are you?”

“No,” she said simply, and suddenly her attitude went down again. Bruce watched it in her eyes as her mood sunk down the abyss he remembered so well from when his own parents had died. It was difficult to see someone else go through the same turmoil and confusion without being able to do much about it.

“I know your uncle is going to do whatever he can to make this a great home for you. I can tell he loves you a lot.” Bruce wanted to get down on the floor with her, to see what she was doing, to bond a little. He really couldn't pin-point it, but he had this overwhelming urge to be there for her as much as possible. Bruce wasn't sure what this was, if it was a type of fatherly instinct or just the part of him that always wanted to protect the innocent. But that last part wasn't very true ,either; he was more about serving out justice to criminals first, protecting innocents second. Wasn't he? So this is the effect that Jim Gordon had on Bruce Wayne.

But Bruce didn't seem to mind. He had taken Jim for granted at the start of the relationship, thinking he'd be there for him through anything and everything; they had that bond, that connection. But Bruce didn't expect to lose sight of himself or his feelings in the process. He didn't expect to be deceived by a doctor on whom he had dione an extensive background check – he didn't expect to be drugged. To Bruce, the world had been against him and he had been drowning in a never-ending pool of despair. Had he known what he knew now, he might have been able to take control of the situation and over-come it. Maybe...

Babs' voice chirped in over his thoughts. “Yeah. But, I think he's trying too hard. Or trying to not try too hard.” She smiled wearily at Bruce and he rolled his eyes knowing exactly what she was talking about; but that was Jim Gordon. 

“He does that. But, I think he'd understand more than you realize.” Bruce got down on the floor, not even caring that he'd quite possibly wrinkle his suit, and scooted over to her slowly, seeing if she was going to mind at all. “See, your Uncle Jim was there for me the night my parents were killed. He didn't have to say much to me, but I knew he cared and that if I wanted to talk he would be there. I never did; what kid really wants to talk about it right after it happens?” Bruce paused to catch the surprise on Babs' face as she realized that Bruce had once been just like her – a kid without parents, left to be raised by whatever guardian had been assigned to them. If anything, he hoped her hearing this from him would at least let her know she wasn't alone.

She looked down at her hands, fidgeting. “How- how did your parents die?” Bruce could tell she was a little worried that he wouldn't want to talk about it, that he would still feel mentally bruised from it.

“They were shot in front of me,” Bruce explained. He didn't feel as though he could really get into it fully; like anyone who'd seen something tragic, reliving and recalling the incident wasn't something he necessarily wanted to do. Fortunately, that was all Babs needed to hear to understand. 

“How did you manage through the pain?” Her voice was quiet, cracking as she tried to keep down the sudden tears that threatened to spring from her eyes. Bruce pushed himself up against the wall next to her, legs out straight, hands in his lap. It was a question no one had asked him in quite some time, and he really wasn't sure he had any answers for the young girl; all he had were experiences.

“There is no easy way through it – to forget. You'll always feel it, always remember it somewhere in the back of your mind. But slowly, as each day passes, it becomes easier to go on. I went years being miserable before I realized that I needed to put my anger into something productive and to surround myself with things that made me happy. I just didn't know what they were. I don't think I truly knew what would make me happy until I came back to Gotham after being away for seven years. And even then what I thought would make me happy turned sour. But then I started to see the things in front of me in a different light, and that was when I found my true happiness.” Even Bruce wanted to admit it sounded entirely too sappy, but looking into the eyes of of that sixteen-year-old and seeing how she had started to look up to him broke his defenses down. And, sappy or not, it was the truth.

“Where did you go for seven years?” Babs asked. Bruce began to answer, but Jim had walked through the door and was raising a questioning eyebrow at Bruce as if to say he'd rather the billionaire keep the reasons behind that quest away from Babs.

“Uh, maybe another time, Babs.” Bruce patted her shoulder and gave her one of those simple, yet heartfelt smiles he didn't often give many people. He stood making his way over to Jim to poke around the bag he had in his hands from the corner store. “What did you buy that you just had to have tonight?” Bruce got close enough that he could smell the remnants of cigarette smoke on Jim's shirt and his breath. Bruce eyed him knowingly and Jim shoved the bag into his hands.

“Milk, coffee, the usual things I need in the morning,” Jim answered, giving Bruce an innocent look, as if really trying to hide that he had just gone for a good smoke. Bruce shook his head.

“And ice cream too, I see.” Bruce knew Jim didn't eat ice cream; he didn't eat many sweets, either. Bruce took it out of the bag and threw it to Babs. “I'm assuming that was for her.” Babs caught it with fairly quick reflexes. She looked at the label and beamed a smile up at Jim. Bruce saw Jim sigh, completely worn down and he couldn't help but wonder if he was going to be able to help Jim de-stress tonight before going on patrol.

\----

Gordon sat on the couch, watching the news on mute. He didn't need the volume to know what they were saying; he'd watched most of the same crap every day. Bruce was making coffee in the kitchen and Babs had gone to bed, saying she was tired. It was a little past eleven in the evening and he had a good hour or so until Bruce left for the his patrols. Bruce brought two mugs and sat down next to him as he handed one over. Gordon took and cradled it in his hands.

“I'm sorry, you know,” Bruce whispered over the top of his cup. “I wasn't going to tell her exactly what I did for those seven years away.”

Gordon shook his head, dismissing it. “Good. She doesn't need to know. Whatever you did during those years, I'm sure she doesn't need those ideas in her head.”

Bruce smirked. “Afraid that I'll try to convince her to be a vigilante with me? That it's the only way for her to come to grips with her parents' death?” He was teasing, of course, but Gordon knew all too well that it was a huge possibility that Babs could be heavily influenced by the actions Bruce had taken in his life if he told her the whole story. “I really don't wish that on anyone, Jim. The reason I do what I do is for the sake of justice. Sure, fine, you can say it: 'and to avenge your parents' death, Bruce'. But it's so much more than that now. It's something I have to do. Batman is me. It's everything.” And even if Gordon didn't fully understand what Bruce was trying to tell him, he got the notion. Bruce had tried to quit being Batman once, tried for the normal. He had reached out to Rachel for everything that he thought “being normal” would entail, but that, too, had failed. Gordon knew that the night when Harvey Dent died, when Batman had become an outlaw and a killer, that Bruce had given himself wholly to a cause he might never see an end to.

And Gordon, even if he didn't know it at the time, loved him for it.


	5. Five

Bruce had left around midnight and returned not more than two hours later. Gordon assumed it was a slow night on the town. Since Holiday had been caught there was very little criminal activity, aside from the occasional break-in, robbery or car-jacking. Life in Gotham was finally starting to look up. Gordon hoped it stayed that way; it would make his job a lot easier not to mention reducing the need for Batman. Not that it would stop Bruce from going out every night.

 

Gordon watched as Batman effortlessly slid through the window and closed it behind him. Gordon heard the snapping of clips as Bruce took the mask off and tossed it carelessly to the floor. He pulled the the gloves off next, the sound of leather separating from sweaty skin and then the soft thunk of the Kevlar hitting the carpeted floor. He took two long strides to the bed and knelt down in front of Gordon. The older man felt Bruce wrap his arms tightly around his waist, head against Gordon's stomach.

 

“Bruce...” Gordon whispered as he ran a hand through the younger man's sweaty locks, thumb caressing his ear with each stroke. Bruce often built up his barriers, even around Gordon, and rarely let his guard down for anyone; but this was the most vulnerable Gordon had seen Bruce in a long time, if not ever. The Kevlar armor was pressing uncomfortably into Gordon's thighs, so he began to undo the hidden clasps he knew so well by now. Bruce pulled back and helped Gordon remove the pieces, tossing them to the corner of the room.

 

Gordon wasn't much of a cuddler, and the only time he had ever done it had been with his ex-wife (because she insisted) and his children (but that was different). But he looked into Bruce's eyes and saw that the man needed – like anyone else – the security and comfort of the one person in the whole world he could trust completely. Gordon scooted over on the bed and laid himself propped up against the headboard. He held his hand out to Bruce and pulled the younger man onto the bed next to him. He wrapped an arm around Bruce's shoulders and dragged him in close, feeling the warmth of Bruce's half-naked body curled up into his side, head on Gordon's chest. Bruce snaked an arm around Gordon's waist and hid his hand under the older man's back, trying to get just a little closer.

 

What had brought on this sudden urge for Bruce, Gordon didn't know, but he found he didn't mind. Their relationship had been heading down the path of being more serious for a few weeks now. Gordon wasn't afraid to admit that he was becoming more attached to Bruce than ever before, and he was sure Bruce felt the same. The billionaire often called when he didn't need to, showed up unexpectedly at all hours, texted Gordon with random “I miss yous”s, and was generally more affectionate than he had ever been. Gordon closed his eyes as he ran his fingers up and down Bruce's muscular arm, feeling the scars that never healed quite right against the contrast of how soft his skin actually was. The sense of being so close to someone else – so connected on another level – relaxed him.

 

In the moment, in his room, the only sound was their regular breathing and the thumping of his own heart as he attempted to listen for Bruce's. He held Bruce in the dark, where no one could see – would never see – Bruce's vulnerability. Gordon was the only person who ever saw the billionaire for who he truly was. And though he would hate to admit it, he had Thomas Elliot to thank for that. Elliot unwittingly brought them together even in their worst moment, when it felt like everything would break between them. They had survived, and with that Gordon was sure that the saying “everything happens for a reason” was as true now as it ever was.

 

Bruce's breathing slowed and his hold on Gordon loosened. Gordon slid down a little but held onto Bruce just as tightly, this time with both arms around the younger man and fell asleep, too.

 

\-----

Gordon woke to the soft touch of lips against his ear, then his neck and his jaw. He opened his eyes to find the semi-blurry face of Bruce gazing down at him. Gordon reached for his glasses, and Bruce handed them to him. He put them on his face, now able to see the gleaming eyes of the man Gordon knew he had somehow fallen in love with despite the trials they had been through. He let out a soft sigh and wished he didn't have to go to work.

 

But today was meeting day with Mayor Garcia. Gordon was determined to get the man to agree to let Bruce back on the team, if only to save Gordon's own sanity – having to keep things from the one person he should have been able to tell anything to was taking it toll.

 

“No time,” Gordon mumbled as he pushed Bruce back so he could roll out of the bed. “Early meeting with Garcia. I'm sure I'm already going to be late. What time is it?”

 

Bruce folded his legs under himself, watching Gordon as he frantically searched for a clean dress shirt from the closet. “It's only seven.”

 

Gordon groaned. He had to be there at eight. “I'm not going to be able to make Babs anything for breakfast. Would you mind – ” He stopped himself as he was about to suggest that Bruce make breakfast, but the idea of that was highly unlikely and possibly dangerous. Bruce in the kitchen with a stove and food – it was an unlikely match-up.

 

“I'll take her to breakfast and then maybe I'll show her the library since she seemed so interested.” Bruce slid off the bed and helped Gordon pull on his shirt, fastening the buttons for him, being extra sure to touch any exposed skin with his fingers before locking it away under the cotton fabric.

 

“That's very generous of you, Bruce. You don't really have to go through all that...” but before Gordon could finish his sentence Bruce was pushing Gordon up against the wall, pushing his hips into the commissioner's. Bruce brushed his lips softly against Gordon's.

 

“Maybe I want to,” Bruce whispered, kissing at Gordon's lips with each word. “Maybe I'm trying to get on her uncle's good side. I hear he rewards those who do favors for him.” Bruce brushed his fingertips down the length of Gordon's penis through the fabric of his boxer shorts. Gordon found himself thrusting his hips into Bruce's grip, but the billionaire refused to take a firmer hold.

 

Gordon wasn't sure how much more he could take; they had been teasing each other and talking about sex for days now and he was about to break if he didn't actually release the tension. He wished harder – quite literally – that he didn't have that meeting. He pushed at Bruce's shoulder and the younger man pulled back, licking his lips. He didn't look apologetic; he didn't look as if he regretted it at all. If anything he looked satisfied to have driven Gordon almost to the point of cracking.

 

“I think you have her uncle confused with someone else,” Gordon said, purposely breaking the sexual mood. He didn't need this right now. Bruce narrowed his eyes at him and shook his head.

 

“No,” the billionaire said simply, “I don't think I do.” He grabbed the back of Gordon's neck and pulled him into a kiss, forcing his tongue past the commissioner's lips. He let the moment linger there and Gordon thought for sure he wouldn't ever breathe again. And when the moment passed and Bruce was wistfully gazing into Gordon's eyes, he smoothed out his tone.“Soon enough.” Gordon didn't need to know what Bruce was thinking; he already knew, and it involved them and a bed, to say the least.

 

\------

The mayor's office was unusually still. The only sound was Gordon's own breathing as he waited for Garcia. Gordon had worried about being late, when he in fact he arrived on time, only to have the mayor be behind schedule. The irony of it was not settling well with Gordon, when he knew he could have been at home with Bruce and Babs if he'd known Garcia would be this late. Forty-five minutes was pushing it and if he didn't show in the next fifteen, Gordon was leaving.

 

Of course, it was just his luck that the door opened with a slightly annoyed Mayor Garcia trailing behind it. Gordon stood to shake the man's hand and then sat back down when gestured to do so. Garcia took a seat at his desk, staring at Gordon.

 

“I'm sorry to be so late, Jim. Having a few issues at home. I'm sure you understand.” Garcia gave one of those smiles that Gordon hated; it was the publicity smile, fake and awkward. For the mayor to suggest that Gordon would know anything about martial problems was probably an understatement, but he didn't need it thrown in his face either. Gordon was quite happy in his life now and had since gotten over the nasty divorce.

 

So he chose to ignore the comment. “I want to talk about Bruce Wayne.” Blunt, to the point, and deserving of the grimace Gordon received from the man sitting just in front of him. “I know you're worried that he's not in the right mindset to help around MCU anymore. I understand and so does Bruce. But, it's been three months and with this new case from Bludhaven, we could really use his expertise.” It sounded a little desperate, Gordon knew. Especially with the case concerning his own family. But Garcia had softened his gaze and smirked.

 

“You don't need to convince me, Jim. Consider it done.” Garcia looked pensive, almost at ease with the idea. Gordon couldn't help but wonder if Garcia had already made his decision before their meeting even took place.

 

“Well, great. Bruce will be very excited.” Was excited even the right word? Bruce liked being Batman, but he doubted it was something he got excited over. Too late now.

 

“And about that case from Bludhaven,” Garcia leaned forward on his desk and gave Gordon one of those concerned looks Gordon usually only got from Alfred. “I'm really sorry, Jim.” Apparently news traveled faster around City Hall than it did at Gotham High.

 

Gordon was tired of being reminded of it. He had felt that he could just move past it and go on with life. He had built up his defenses and kept himself sturdy. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. There, better. Calm. Numb, again. Perfect.

 

“I'd rather not discuss it.” Gordon kept his tone neutral and steady, dipping his head just slightly with a small gesture of his hands to indict he wanted to drop the subject. He was sure that once the funeral had taken place he'd be able to look back on it without grimacing and with out an ounce remorse for the way things had turned out. But right now, if he did think about it, he knew he'd lose it and everything would crash down around him.

 

Garcia nodded. “Of course.”

 

\------

 

Bruce sat, one elbow on the table, head cradled in his hand while the other stirred his coffee aimlessly. Babs was still going over the menu, making little “mmm” noises at all the different foods she wanted, not able to decide. Bruce thought it was sort of quirky and it reminded him a bit of Jim, if Jim were a girl. He was watching her facial expressions, checking for the moment she might break down again. It was a common occurance for the first few days, if not weeks, after something so tragic. But Babs surprised him in her willingness to move on and be happy. She was adapting well to her new life and Bruce saw a lot of hope in her eyes when she looked up at him from over her menu.

 

“I think I know what I'm going to have.” She placed the menu down on the table and folded it back up. “What are you going to have?”

 

Bruce shrugged. “Not really that hungry.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Plus, Alfred would kill me if he found out I ate greasy diner food.” So it was a fib – just a little one. Alfred could have cared less what Bruce put into his stomach, when in fact it was Bruce who cared. He hated the way greasy food made him feel sluggish – it was bad enough to feel that way wearing the Batsuit. But how was he supposed to tell that to a his boyfriend's sixteen-year-old niece who was already looking up to him far more than expected?

 

Babs giggled. Maybe she knew Bruce was full of it. Maybe she really was smarter than he and Jim were giving her credit for. Bruce knew she could be trouble with a capital T when it came to keeping his secret identity from her. He would have to keep things a little tighter than usual when he was over at Jim's place, or when Babs and Jim were at the Manor.

 

The waitress was standing beside their table now, pen on her pad. “What'll ya have?”

 

“French toast, please.” Babs handed her menu over to the woman. Bruce pushed his over to the side of the table for the waitress.

 

“More coffee and orange juice.” He might regret it later – the acidity would kill him. “Please,” he added when he saw the look on Babs' face. The waitress left, and Babs rolled her eyes at him. “What?”

 

She shook her head and sipped on the hot chocolate she had ordered. “Are you going to be keeping me company every day this summer?” Bruce nearly spit out his coffee, covering his mouth quickly with a napkin.

 

“No, no. Trust me, I have other responsibilities. I'm sure Jim will have something set up for you soon for you. I don't think he expects you to stay cooped up in that apartment all summer. The bus system isn't bad, I could get your a pass, if it's okay with Jim.” Bruce leaned back in the booth and thew his arm over the back of it. He watched Babs' face for some sign of what she wanted, what she might be asking for.

 

“That would be nice.” She had a thoughtful look on her face and then looked at Bruce with a mischievous grin. “I think once everything is taken care of Uncle Jim needs to take a vacation. And there's this show coming into town that would be really neat to go see. But the tickets have been sold out for a while.” Ah, so this was part of what Babs had been looking up last night when she wouldn't let anyone see. Bruce let out an amused sigh.

 

“What show?” Because he was Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne could pull strings. He rarely used said strings for himself, and he'd be more than happy to get Babs what she wanted. He felt like the uncle every kid wanted to go visit because he bought them candy for dinner. Bruce found he kind of liked that feeling.

 

“The Flying Graysons.”

 

Bruce had heard of it; in fact he knew that it was one of the best-known acts in the United States. He had never particularly wanted to go see it, but the experience might well be worth it. And Babs seemed genuinely excited for it. Damn him and his vulnerable heart.

 

“Alright. I'll see what I can do about getting the tickets. You get to work on buttering your uncle up for when I suggest he take some time off work. He's never going to do it if we don't wear him down. I suggest using that pouty face you're so good at.”

 

Babs raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hide the giggle that slipped past her lips. “And what about you? How will you try to convince him to take a vacation?”

 

Bruce put down his coffee and looked at her pointedly. “Well, first I'm going to take him to dinner. Then when you go to bed I'm –” But Babs had put her hand in the air for him to stop. She was giggling harder now, face red from blushing.

 

“Don't. Just don't finish that sentence, Bruce. I'm sorry I asked.”


	6. Six

For the first time since March Bruce stood on top of the Major Crimes Unit building in his Kevlar reinforced suit, cowl in place. The Bat-signal shone high in the sky and below in the city was just stirring awake to head out nightclubs and parties. Cars had been honking for the last thirty minutes, as the signal had not been seen in a long time. To some it was a reminder that someone was watching over them, a Silent Guardian; to others it was fear, the symbol of a brutal and relentless Dark Knight. To Bruce, it was the reminder that he had a partnership with Gotham City's Police Commissioner through friendship, trust, and, most importantly, love. Bruce Wayne was happy to have his place back in Gotham, on the rooftop with Jim and in the hearts of the citizens, good or bad.

 

This was  _his_ city –  _their_ city.

 

Jim walked around the signal and switched it off in one fluid gesture. He looked worn and frazzled, weary. Bruce noticed that Jim's tie was hanging loosely around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his suit jacket missing altogether. The unkempt commissioner was very alluring, and his obliviousness to the fact that made him even more inviting. Usually, Bruce would jab a finger in his direction and make a lewd comment, to which Jim would most likely roll his eyes and attempt to move on. Bruce was notorious for flirting at any given moment; Alfred said it was a nervous habit, a shield that Bruce put up to avoid having to say what was really on his mind (not to mention keeping those who might suspect he was Batman from ever suspecting again). Bruce couldn't help that Jim brought out the flirt in him naturally.

 

Bruce opted to merely let his gaze roll over Jim's body twice before the older man shook his head, suggesting that he couldn't believe Bruce would take a moment like this to be thinking about bed room activities. But Bruce knew he wasn't the only one, and no matter how much Jim tried to hide the fact that he was mindlessly thinking about sex, Bruce knew all too well that the other man was on the brink of breaking. Bruce liked it though; he liked how Jim tried to act as if the obvious weren't true. It just meant that Bruce had to try harder, which also meant the end result would be well worth the energy and effort.

 

James Gordon was definitely worth both and then some. James Gordon had become everything Bruce ever thought he would need in someone to love. James Gordon had broken past Bruce's carefully crafted defenses, walked into his heart and made his home there. Bruce never intended for his life to be happy after Rachel's death – James Gordon changed all of that. They both saw Gotham for what she was, a mistress to be tamed, to be fought for, to die for – to save. Their common goals and dreams bound them together like a book, and they read each other seamlessly. There were moments – now gone and forgotten in mutual respect – where they didn't see eye-to-eye, the printing of their pages a little too small in parts, and maybe just a little too large in others. But those few distraught and distracting pages hardly made up for the ones that came before and the ones still being written. Bruce hoped the book didn't end anytime soon.

 

“I never want to have to unplug this thing again,” Jim said wistfully. He placed his hands on his hips, misty blue eyes staring at Bruce through the horn-rimmed glasses planted firmly on his face, as always. Bruce pulled at the fingers of his gloves and tossed that part of his uniform to the rooftop. He took a step towards Jim, reaching out a hand to the commissioner's face, fingertips brushing the worry-lines in the older man's forehead and stopping when his thumb brushed the hair on Jim's upper lip, fingers spread across his cheek.

 

“You'll never have to.” There was a sweet sincerity in Bruce's voice, a distinct tone somewhere between meaning it and signing it in blood. He saw a light flicker on in Jim's eyes as Bruce ran his hand through the other man's soft hair, feeling each strand between the pads of his fingers. Bruce made a promise to himself that he would give thanks for Jim Gordon every time he had a moment to himself. Jim was his savior, his light, the reason he felt he could move on after his parents' death. His soul mate, his best friend, and his lover. Just plain  _his_ .

 

More honking from the streets below and Bruce watched Jim's lips curl into that little wispy smile that sneaked out from under his mustache just enough to look bashful. Bruce leaned in and kissed the smile off Jim's lips. A slow, warm tongue reached out to Bruce's, their mouths covering each other, sealed so no breath could escape. It was as if they were underwater, sharing what little air was left before drowning together. Bruce wouldn't mind drowning with Jim forever, if he could, just as they were in a metaphorical pool of lust, love and devotion. How was it that Jim Gordon made him feel so complete and so careless.

 

Everything was changing. Everything changed. Bruce didn't mind.

 

Jim pulled back first, hand placed gingerly on Bruce's chest plate. Bruce wished for a brief moment that they were somewhere private so he could take the suit off and feel Jim's large, rough hands smooth over his bare chest, touching him in the way only Jim knew how. Instead, Bruce dropped one hand over Jim's and curled his fingers around the hand. Jim's eyes went to their hands, slowly tracing their way up again to Bruce's face until their gazes met once more.

 

Sometime in the last month Jim had finally dropped his own defenses. Bruce was finally seeing the part of Jim he had longed to know personally since the day he had held the older man up with a stapler – the confident, caring, and loving husband and father. Jim had loved his family before they split apart, and when it had happened, when his now ex-wife had left him... he had been shattered. But something had happened, something must have changed, because everyday a little more of “Jim Gordon the husband and father” bled into their life together. Bruce didn't mind, he was finding every detail of the commissioner's personality to be sexy, right down to the way he flossed his teeth.

 

_Oh, Bruce. You have fallen in love. Don't let this one break you like..._ But he didn't even want to finish his thoughts, the name was just a name now. Bruce had moved on without having to change who he was or to give up the piece of his life that he needed to stay completely grounded: Batman. Jim took Bruce so openly for who he was, especially now that things had finally leveled out into a smooth pattern. If everything stayed on the track it was headed, Bruce never saw his life without Jim Gordon. Or his niece Babs, for that matter. Bruce definitely could live with Jim and Babs as his family. Oh, and Alfred too, of course.

 

“What are you thinking?” Jim asked with his head cocked to the side slightly, eying Bruce suspiciously. Bruce merely smiled at the commissioner.

 

“I think the better question would be: what am I  _not_ thinking?” Bruce would admit that it was nice to have his own thoughts back, his head cleared completely from the fog that had hung there for months. Jim rolled his eyes, a gesture that suggested he assumed Bruce had his mind in the gutter again.

 

Bruce began to protest but was silenced as Gerard Stephens walked through the rooftop door, not looking at all surprised to see the two embraced there. He nodded his head as he searched his pockets for his cigarettes. Bruce felt Jim's body tense in his arms, but only held him a little closer. Jim let his gaze reach Bruce's again, a lot of worry on his face. They both knew Gerry had figured it out a while back, but Jim had been hesitant to openly admit to it. Jim pushed on Bruce's chest and the vigilante let go regretfully. Jim stood a good three feet from Bruce, and all the younger man could think about was being close to him again.

 

“Don't stop on my account,” Gerry said, lighting up a cigarette and handing another to Jim. The commissioner stared at the cigarette and then looked to Bruce. Jim frowned and denied it with a wave of his hand. Gerry shrugged.

 

“We weren't –” Jim had started, and this time Gerry held a hand in the air, taking a drag.

 

“Listen. We're all detectives here. The clues are laid out pretty thick in front of your two. You can fool the mayor and you can fool the rookies, but you can't fool a veteran detective who's worked along side you, Jim, for nearly fifteen years.” Gerry took another drag, calm and reserved, not once raising his voice. Jim looked as if he'd gone and slept on a bed of nails all night and was trying not to show the pain. Bruce wanted to laugh. He liked Gerry, even if Gerry always seemed very hesitant to be in the same room with Bruce at any given time.

 

Jim glared at Gerry as if he were trying to burn a hole through his head. Bruce knew that Jim liked to think that everything the two of them did together was was completely private and that everyone was oblivious. This was clearly not the case. If a sixteen-year-old girl could figure it out in less than two days, there was no way half of MCU didn't know either.

 

“Can we please move on to the task at hand?” Jim said, hands on his hips. Bruce noticed Jim used this particular body language when he needed to exert his authority. Gerry put up with it because Jim was the boss and because Jim was as hard-headed as they came. No one back talked the Commissioner, and the one person that had dared hadalready got hers in the end.

 

Gerry shrugged. “You're the boss.”

 

“Mayor Garcia has agreed to allow –” Jim paused to look at Bruce and find the right name“ –  _Batman_ to 'officially' help out with cases again. This means we can get a move on with the Bludhaven case. The sooner we figure out who ran Roger's car off the road, the sooner we can get this case closed..” He didn't want to mention that he thought it had been done intentionally, because there was no proof of that.

 

Bruce was surprised with Jim. He had thought for sure that he would have seen the older man break down by now, show how he was really feeling about his brother's death. Then again, Jim had rarely brought his brother up at all; the first time Bruce had heard about him was a few weeks ago when Jim mentioned he was coming to visit. Bruce assumed, especially now, that it had been a strained relationship that no one mentioned, and that everyone had moved on, pretending everything was fine. Sooner or later, it would catch up to the commissioner and he would be overwhelmed with his own emotions. Bruce was watchful, aware that it could happen on a whim. But Jim was tough, and only in the most desperate of situations would he ever show any emotion other than a happy or neutral one. This made him think of Babs. The girl had adapted quickly to her situation, though Bruce knew for a fact that she had probably cried herself to sleep the past two nights. But, she definitely seemed better since he had chatted with her yesterday and that morning.

 

Bruce had an overall good feeling about Babs. There was spunk and spark in her that reminded Bruce of someone...

 

“... Are you even listening?” Jim was staring at Bruce, head tipped down, glasses sliding down his nose a bit, and glaring at the vigilante over the rims. Bruce set his jaw and his lips into that grim line, clenching his fists at his side. It was what Jim often called Bruce's “I'm trying to be bad-ass” pose, always mockingly and always teasing, but it did the job whether it worked on the commissioner or not. Bruce also knew Jim liked it, even if he wouldn't outright admit it.

 

Jim narrowed his eyes at Bruce and then moved his gaze back to Gerry. “As I was saying. I'd like to get the rest of the results from the tests run on the bodies for any sign of mishandling. Gerry, I know you can get that for me. And you –” Jim shifted his gaze once again to Batman “– I need you to check the car for any paint scratches that the BP and GCP might have missed, see if we can pin point at least a car color, if nothing else.”

 

It was easy. Too easy even for Bruce, but he would do it for Jim. “Consider it done,” Bruce rasped. He could do it in less than than a day and he almost felt it would be worth it to get right on it. The look Jim was giving him suggested he wait until tomorrow, but Batman didn't work days, and waiting with this on his mind all day tomorrow was just not going to happen. Bruce nodded to Gerry and turned, brushing his hand against Jim's ever so lightly, enough for the older man to turn his head and watch Bruce as he jumped down the ledge into a pool of shadows.

 

\------

 

Gordon was only a little disappointed when Bruce left so quickly to get on the case. He really should have known that the younger man was itching to get his hands into something good, no matter what it was. He just wished Bruce had waited until tomorrow night, since the looming sexual tension of the past few days had been more than wearing Gordon down. He had been hoping for at least some kind of physical contact, to have some release. But he couldn't stop a car that had no brakes; Bruce would find what Gordon had asked for and then his mind would be free to wander else where and that was when Gordon would finally make his move.

 

If time allowed. The next few days were going to rough. Gordon and Babs had to go have their blood taken for the DNA tests (he had told Babs it was to be sure he was her uncle), then he needed to take Babs to Brentwood Academy to enroll her (Bruce had demanded it, even shelled out the money to pay the tuition), and then make last-minute arrangements for the funeral on Saturday. The last item he really wanted to get done quickly so he could move on in the same manner. The sooner it was done the sooner he could put it behind him and set his eyes to the future. He hoped that Babs could do the same, though he didn't wish her to forget all together – just that she knew that moving forward was what would be best.

 

So far, Babs had seemed to take her parents' death better than Gordon ever imagined. Whatever Bruce had said to her while he was out at the corner store had really made a change in her attitude. Maybe Bruce was the person she needed in her life, someone who had dealt with events similar to hers and had moved on to live a full, happy and healthy life. Just as long as Bruce left out the day he vowed to clean up the streets of Gotham by dressing up as a bat, Gordon could live with Babs seeing a mentor and friend in the billionaire. They were practically family, after all.

 

Gordon placed his key in the lock and turned it, pushing the door to his apartment open. Babs was laying curled up on a third of the couch, lap top closed on the seat next to her, fast asleep. The television was on the Lifetime channel. Gordon slipped off his jacket and threw it over a kitchen chair and toed his shoes off next to the couch. He reached over and turned the television off. He took the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over Babs. She stirred slightly, mumbling something about her parents that Gordon couldn't quite understand. 

 

He squatted down beside the couch and watched her for a few minutes, moving a strand of her brownish-red hair away from her face. Such a sweet, smart, and caring girl should not have had to go through the tragedy that she had. It wasn't fair. Gordon stood and quietly walked towards his bedroom.

 

“Uncle Jim?” Babs called out softly, and Gordon turned around, hand on the edge of the hallway arch. He smiled at her as he saw her eyes peek over the back of the couch at him.

 

“Yes, sweetheart?” His tone was soft and soothing. He missed his kids, he missed everything about watching them grow up. Soon, Susan was going to Babs' age and he wouldn't know where the time had gone. Soon Jimmy would graduate high school, then college, and someday both his kids would get married and have kids of their own, and Gordon would still be stuck believing they were small. He needed to call Barbara again.

 

“I'm glad you're home. I missed you today.” Babs had folded her arms over the back of the couch and was giving him a sincere little smile. She had been crying, he could tell, but she was hiding it pretty well. He wouldn't push it.

 

Gordon walked back into the living room and knelt down to her eye level. “Are you hungry? I was thinking we could order a pizza and maybe watch a movie? If you're up to it?”

 

Babs' eyes lit up and Gordon didn't really need to hear her answer. “I'd really like that.” Gordon kissed her on the forehead as he stood. He glanced at the microwave clock; it was nearly eleven in the evening, and he had to start early tomorrow, but he also needed this time with Babs. He'd survive. Bruce did it all the time, living on four hours of sleep or less a night. It couldn't be that hard and it would be well worth it.

 

“What do you like on your pizza?”

 


	7. Seven

 

The week went by slowly – even slower once the Stephens informed him that the autopsies on Roger and Thelma had come back clean of drugs, alcohol, or any other substance. This meant the car accident was most likely not just an accident, but they had pretty much known that already, it was just a matter of proof. When Bruce returned from checking out the car, he said the only thing he had found was a slight scratch of black paint, and he was having Lucius run some tests on it to see if an exact match could be made. Bruce also suggested that Gordon start looking into any friends of the family that might have had a grudge against Roger or Thelma.

 

In the meantime, Gordon needed to clear his head of the ordeal and focus on the two things that really mattered right now: Babs and the funeral.

 

He was hardly looking forward to an event that he hoped would stay low key. He allowed Bruce and Alfred to help him put it together, to get it over with quicker. He thought that the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could move ahead. He hoped Babs would see it that way, too. He hoped for her sake that she was taking everything Bruce had been saying to her to heart. So far, he saw the difference in her attitude when she was around him. He couldn't be with her all the time to know for sure, but he figured she needed her time alone anyway to come to grips with everything that had happened in the past week.

 

He was sure in time, she'd be just fine. Bruce reassured him of the same thing. Bruce and Babs seemed to have grown close quickly, just as Gordon had expected might happen. He didn't mind, however, because he knew Babs needed someone like Bruce to confide in. Gordon only hoped Bruce's influences only went so far; he didn't need two people in his life running across roof tops avenging their parents' deaths.

 

It wasn't likely to happen that way. Bruce wouldn't want that. Bruce wouldn't _allow_ that.

 

Gordon stood in front of his bathroom mirror, attempting to keep his hands still as he tried to knot his tie. He remembered it being a lot easier than this yesterday, his thumbs fumbling over the slick fabric, finally getting it just right, or close enough that no one would notice. He smoothed his shirt down with his fingers, trying to get the wrinkles out. He hadn't worn this suit since he had to give the speech at Harvey Dent's memorial, and it had since been through two moves, sitting in the closet. _No time to think about it now_ , he thought. No one would notice.

 

There was a knock at the bathroom door. Gordon reached over and opened it. Babs popped her head around the door frame. She smiled weakly at him and opened the door the rest of the way. She stepped up to him and reached for his tie, fixing the knot that she apparently found to be crooked.

 

“Thanks,” he said as he looked down at his tie.

 

“No problem.” She sighed and walked out the door. “Bruce is here.” As if it were nothing, as if Bruce was always there and it wasn't anything to be surprised over anymore. She did catch on fast.

 

Gordon followed after her, grabbing his suit jacket off the counter and sliding it on over his shoulders. It was the middle of summer and he had to wear a full suit for a good portion of the day. He prayed it wasn't too hot. He walked down the hall and into the living room where he saw Bruce dressed in all black, even his dress shirt. Gordon couldn't help but imagine Bruce wearing the Batsuit to a funeral. He grinned at the thought, because it was probably the funniest thought he would have all day. Babs was already heading out the door, dressed in a simple black dress. Bruce held his hand out to Gordon, and the older man took it without hesitation.

 

Bruce gave Gordon a sincere smile as he led him out of the apartment and towards the elevator. Babs had already hit the button for the elevator. She turned around as Gordon and Bruce approached, glancing at their entwined fingers. She looked back up at Gordon, and he could have sworn she almost smiled. That was something on a day like today. The doors of the elevator opened and all three of them walked in. Babs stood directly in front of Gordon and Bruce, facing them.

 

“Despite what today actually means, I am happy to have such a wonderful new family.” She looked to Gordon and then to Bruce, her big blue eyes gleaming through her glasses. She had been on the verge of tears all morning, Gordon noticed, and now she was about to break before they even arrived at the funeral.

 

Bruce let go of Gordon's hand in a gesture for the commissioner to comfort his niece. Gordon held his arms out to her and pulled her into a hug, stroking her long hair and keeping her as close as he could until she had finished crying, or at least had herself under control. Finally, when she pulled back, they exited the elevator, Babs looping one arm in Gordon's and one in Bruce's, walking between them.

 

Gordon glanced over at Bruce who was already looking in Gordon's direction. Bruce had a smirk on his face. Gordon wasn't sure what Bruce was thinking, but he could tell from the billionaire's demeanor that he didn't mind at all, and that he, too, would consider Babs a part of his family. Not that Bruce had much family, aside from Alfred. Maybe this was what Bruce needed. Maybe Bruce Wayne needed a family, people to count on. Lord knew that Bruce needed all the people he could trust in his life after so many incidents, so many betrayals...

 

 _This could be the turning point,_ Gordon thought; _this could be the beginning for all of us._

 

 

_\------_

 

Hands deep in his pockets, Bruce watched Jim and Babs at the gravestones, heads bowed in a moment of prayer. Jim had decided he would bury Roger and Thelma in Gotham, where Babs could visit whenever she pleased. It was a noble thought and only made Bruce's thoughts linger on his own parents. He hadn't actually sat down and thought about them in years. He had blocked all emotions related to them from his mind to keep himself steady, strong and unemotional about the subject. It presented the people of Gotham with the idea that Bruce Wayne was a cold hearted bastard, squandering away his parents hard earned money. 

 

What people didn't know was that Bruce had been more affected by his parents' deaths than anyone else ever would be or could be, despite what they wanted to think of him. If they really knew, if they really stopped to think about it and put the pieces together... Bruce shook his head at the thought; he didn't want them to know. It was better to be known as a belligerent billionaire airhead than for everyone to suspect he was Batman. Some secrets had to be kept. Some secrets if let out would ruin not only his life, but Jim's and Babs' as well.

 

Bruce knew he'd have to try a lot harder now to keep his night-time antics on the down low, taking extra precautions to be sure no one ever saw him in a vulnerable state. It was bad enough that Mayor Garcia and Gerard Stephens knew, along with a few select criminals still running around the streets – namely Thomas Elliot. Bruce could feel his blood boil when he thought of Tommy; just the very idea of him made Bruce clench his hands into fists, squeezing until his knuckles were white and his fingernails left indentations in the palms of his hands.

 

Beside him, Alfred placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder to relax him. Bruce shifted his eyes to his left to look at the older gentlemen. Alfred couldn't possibly know what Bruce was thinking, but he could obviously tell that the younger man was in some sort of distress by his body language. Bruce closed his eyes and told himself to calm down, to relax, to let it all go and everything would be fine. Meditation was key,  _just focus on Jim and Babs, be here for them, clear your mind._ Soon Bruce was grounded again. He opened his eyes and focused on Jim, who was now sprinkling the first of the dirt into the graves as Babs threw a rose into each of them.

 

Next to Jim was Barbara, holding the hands of Jimmy and Susan, who hadn't really known their Uncle Roger or their Aunt Thelma; but Barbara had insisted that they come out of support for Jim and Babs. Bruce knew he shouldn't have minded, that it was Barbara's right, being the mother of Jim's children, to be there. But Bruce would have preferred to be at Jim's side in Barbara's place. Bruce wanted to be the one that was going to hold Jim when he broke down. Not Barbara. But Bruce could see in the woman's eyes that she was going to let go of their kids' hands any moment to reach for Jim, and comfort him.

 

“Perhaps, sir, we should start back to the car,” Alfred said from beside Bruce, hands clasped neatly in front of him as he looked at the same sight Bruce was. He was aware that Alfred was suggesting that they leave now and let the  _family_ have their moment. Bruce turned to face Alfred, lips grim and thin just as they would have been if Batman had been standing there instead. Bruce knew Alfred was right. He didn't belong here for the rest of the funeral. Jim had Babs to watch after, and Barbara could console Jim far better than Bruce could, having been married to him for years. 

 

Bruce nodded slowly. Alfred nodded his head towards the car and began to walk that way. Bruce took one look back at Jim and his family; the rest of the funeral party had already started to dissipate, leaving the family a few moments to grieve privately before coming back to give their condolences. Jim hadn't cracked yet, Babs was on the verge of crying and Barbara looked flustered, as if she were trying to decide who she should attend to. Bruce knew Jim's ex-wife had it under control. He turned back towards Alfred, who was half way across the cemetery now, and began to walk after him.

 

_This is Jim's family, Bruce. You have to respect that. You're just... you're just you_ . Bruce thought he had gotten over these feelings – the lost, empty, cold, stabbing pains that dug into his gut in a moment of distress, when he felt like he had no control over things. Was he having a relapse? Were the drugs not really out of his system? Or were these fragments of loneliness just the reality of what life was handing him? Jim Gordon had become everything that mattered in Bruce's life, everything that kept him going and believing that what he was doing for Gotham – as Batman – was truly important and worth the effort.

 

“Bruce...” The patter of feet in a slow jog behind him cameto a stop. Bruce sighed mentally, and straightened his shoulders as he turned his upper body first towards the person behind him. The rest of his body followed suit, relaxing a bit when he saw it was Jim. “Where are you going?”

 

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but the words escaped him when he saw the worry on Jim's face. There was an undeniable look of need on his face, the wrinkles in his forehead showing more than ever as his expression slowly turned more frantic. Bruce swallowed uncomfortably. He had just made matters worse for Jim, leaving him when he should have been there, by his side or not.

 

“I thought that –” Bruce started, but he knew it wasn't enough, that no explanation would ever really be enough. Instead, as Jim's eyes began to grow sadder, Bruce opened his arms to the older man. Jim didn't hesitate; the rock he had been for the past week had just been hit with a sledge hammer – he was crumbling, fast. Bruce felt the other man's arms wrap around his torso, one hand grasping his shoulder, the other around his waist. Jim's face was buried in Bruce's neck, and Bruce held him, one hand on the back of Jim's head and the other holding him as close to him as he possibly could. Jim had reached up and taken off his glasses, holding them tightly in his fist.

 

Bruce had onl seen Jim cry once, and even that hadn't been out of loss but out of fear for his family, believing that Harvey Dent would kill them. This was different. Jim was breaking down, letting go of all the built-up of anguish and the days of holding it back. Jim sobbed into Bruce's shoulder, and Bruce began to whisper into Jim's ear that he remembered hearing so long ago when his own parents had died.

 

“It's alright. It's alright.” The words rolled out of his mouth smoothly, as if they were the only thing to be said in a situation such as this. Bruce pressed his mouth against Jim's ear for a gentle kiss, and another whisper. “It's okay, Jim. It's okay.”

 

It was a vulnerable moment for the commissioner, and Bruce knew that later he would deny it had happened, that he didn't cry and he didn't grieve – but Bruce would always know that Jim Gordon was nothing more than a man. Just like everyone else. Just like Bruce.

 

Moments passed, maybe minutes, Bruce hadn't kept track. Jim pulled back and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his suit jacket. Bruce was still holding him as close as he could manage. People had stopped to stare. Luckily it was just Jim's family and very close friends, but Bruce knew Jim would end up with a lot of explaining to do later. Bruce didn't care, but obviously Jim did. Jim tried to wriggle away from Bruce, but Bruce was beyond caring anymore, beyond hiding everything and receiving nothing in return for his patience.

 

Bruce grabbed the back of Jim's neck, bending just slightly to kiss him. Jim's body went rigid in shock and his lips firmly shut to block Bruce's needy kiss. Determined, Bruce coaxed the older man's mouth open with a flick of his tongue across Jim's lips, taking the moment where Bruce lost himself to it to delve deep into the commissioner's mouth and explore what was rightfully his. Jim's body relaxed, his fingers playing with the sleeves of Bruce's suit jacket. The billionaire let up, nose-to-nose with Jim, eyes half opened and gazing into the other man's eyes.

 

“I'm tired of hiding everything about myself, playing the fool and acting the idiot. I want just one good thing in my life to be real and known. I  _need_ this,” Bruce whispered against Jim's lips. He knew it was too late, everyone had seen the show, seen  _them_ , and Bruce began to wonder which of Jim's friends would be the ones to go directly to the press. But those things could easily be covered up, if needed; Alfred was good at coming up with stories to cover Bruce's ass. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to. Hopefully, it wouldn't get out too far, and hopefully, Jim wouldn't be afraid to come out to all his friends, as what little family he had left already knew.

 

“Bruce, I don't know that its such a good idea...” Jim began now trying to push away from Bruce, but the billionaire took ahold of the older man's arms and kept him steady and near.

 

“Jim!” Bruce said desperately. He let go of his grip on Jim's arms and placed his hands on either side of his face instead. Bruce steadied his voice. “Jim, I want to be there for you through all of this. Through everything else, at your side and not just as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne. As your friend, your partner, your lover.” Bruce let out a long sigh, gathering his thoughts and the courage to say what he had to say, hoping that by saying it out loud finally, it would be real. “I love you, Jim.”

 

It was hard, because Bruce saw in Jim's eyes that he loved Bruce as well, but the words that escaped the commissioner's mouth were far from what he needed to hear. “I- I can't do this right now, Bruce. This really isn't the time.” And with that Jim removed Bruce's already limp hands from his face and walked back towards his family – to Babs, who was crying in Barbara's arms, and Jimmy and Susan, who just didn't seem to care. Family. Bruce should have left and not looked back. Jim was obviously not ready to take the same step as Bruce.

 

Bruce turned again, heading first towards the car where Alfred was waiting. But as he walked a familiar path through the cemetery, he found himself walking toward his parents' graves. He stopped at the headstones, and vaguely remembered the last time he had come here. It had been at least three years. He had just returned from from being missing for over seven years, and though Alfred was good as a mentor and parent, Bruce needed his parents, specifically his father, to know he was going to finally hold true to the vow he had placed on their graves so many years back.

 

_And where has that gotten you, Bruce? Alone, sitting at your parents' grave site._

 

_Maybe today wasn't the best day to confess your love to Jim. Maybe today wasn't the day to attempt to make it publicly known that you ravage Commissioner Gordon in the bedroom. Maybe today would have been better if you had just stayed at home in bed – then none of this would have happened._

 

Bruce's phone beeped. He took it out and saw a text from Alfred asking where he was. Bruce responded with a simple “Take the Gordon's home,” and nothing else.

 

There was a warm breeze in the air, and Bruce slipped his suit jacket off and threw it over his father's headstone, obscuring the name. Then he got to his knees and crawled over the grave and sat, back to the stone, hands on the grass and feeling the warm earth under his fingertips. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the stone behind him. He wished for one brief moment that his father was alive, to be there for him when he needed help in these situations. Alfred was only so much help and after a while it was hard to tell the sarcasm from the real advice. Or if the gentleman was merely mocking him.

 

Bruce didn't feel anymore. He had stopped feeling his parents death a long time ago, but today was different. Today he felt utterly alone.

.

 

\------

Gordon felt worse than awful. Bruce had taken the step that Gordon himself had been pondering for weeks now, and had yet to find the courage to admit even to himself. But Bruce choose the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong setting... the wrong  _everything._ Gordon was more than grateful to have Bruce there, to be the one that held him when he shattered. But he hadn't expected Bruce to pick today, of all days, to make the two of them so very public. It should have been  _their_ decision together, not Bruce's alone; not Gordon's alone.

 

It was just bad timing all around. Gordon had taken Babs from Barbara and held her as she cried; now that he had gotten his wall back up, he could be strong for her. He watched Bruce walk back towards the parking lot, where Alfred most likely was waiting for all of them. Gordon wasn't sure what he would tell Bruce later, what the conversation would be like. He just hoped Bruce understood where he was coming from and that he wasn't trying to push him away altogether – just not here, not today, and not in public.

 

Ten minutes passed before Babs was drying her eyes and laughing roughly through her tears at a few jokes Jimmy was telling to try and lighten the mood for everyone. Barbara kept trying to get her arms around Gordon, to comfort him, but he kept telling her he was fine. Personally, he liked his ex-wife, might even still love her, but he didn't long for her the way he had when they were married, and he sure as hell didn't care about her nearly as much. Her attempts were sad and a little annoying, as it seemed she was trying hard to reestablish something they used to have. Gordon knew she regretted the day she left Gotham, left Gordon. But that was quite some time ago and Gordon had gotten over it and moved on; he was even happy now.

 

Even when Bruce was acting so strange. But was he really acting strange or just being completely honest?  _Honest._ Gordon felt his stomach cramp up; Bruce was merely being honest and if this was the time he felt was best, no matter how unfitting it might have been, then who was Gordon to deny him that? Except he had. 

 

Gordon mentally slapped his hand against his forehead.

 

He took a steady pace back towards the car, Babs just steps ahead of him. They made it back to the car, where Alfred stood with the doors of the Rolls Royce open, helping Babs inside.

 

“I've been instructed, Master  _Jim,_ to drive you and the young miss back home.” Alfred opened the passenger side front door of the car for Gordon. Gordon stared at him suspiciously.

 

“Where is Bruce?”

 

“Master Wayne never came back to the car. I'm not sure where he is,” Alfred said as he continued to hold the door open for Gordon. Gordon moved Alfred's hand and shut the door.

 

“Take Babs to the Wayne Manor. Barbara and the kids should be there any time now.” He stuck his head in the window and looked back at his niece. “Are you going to be alright going with Alfred? I have to find Bruce.”

 

Babs nodded, looking about ready to fall asleep anyway. Gordon looked back to Alfred who was raising a curious eyebrow at Gordon. “I think this time  _I_ screwed up, Alfred.” And he walked away, hearing the engine of the car start as he headed down the familiar path. 

 

Gordon knew that sooner or later if they really wanted to live a happy life together, if that's what they agreed on, it would have to become public knowledge. He just hadn't been sure he was really ready for it – if he and Bruce could really make it  _forever._ Times like this made it seem so far away and a bigger hassle than he might actually be worth.

 

No, that was a lie. Gordon had gone almost two months without Bruce, knowing he was struggling, knowing he didn't want help. It was the hardest thing he had done so far, and he ached every day until he saw Bruce again and reconciled everything. No, he did love Bruce, and he would die for him if he had to, if it meant that Bruce would go on to do what he was destined to do. Live and fight for Gotham.

 

It was then that Gordon knew the mistake had really been his. Bruce had opened himself up to Gordon and Gordon had shot him down. Bruce took the brunt of a lot of things, and if one of Gordon's friends decided to go to the press about what had happened... well, Gordon knew he would have no say in how it was played out – Bruce would sacrifice his personal image, no matter how diminished it already was, to preserve Gordon's, if it came down to it. That just wasn't fair. It wasn't right, and Gordon knew it. Somehow, since this had already spiraled out of control, Gordon would have to make it up to Bruce. Maybe not now, or even a week from now, but he would figure out a way to make it right.

 

Bruce, after all, had said it so clearly; he just wanted to stop hiding every part of his life (aside from Batman). Maybe Gordon needed to take a new perspective and do the same.

 

Gordon continued to walk a path he hadn't stepped foot on in nearly twenty years. It was a path he had walked alone the night after the funeral of Thomas and Martha Wayne, when no one would be around. It was different now; more manicured, a little older and more weathered, the grass a lot greener. He came to the resting spot and, just as he suspected, from knowing the younger man better than he knew anyone, was Bruce. He sat, back to the headstone, one knee up, with his arm on his knee, and his forehead against arm. It was truly a sight Gordon did not want to see.

 

A suit jacket lay over the headstone, and Bruce had kicked off his shoes, but where they were Gordon didn't know. He stripped off his own suit jacket and laid it on top of Bruce's, kicking his shoes off as well and letting them land just a few feet away. He sat down next to Bruce. He expected Bruce to move, to flinch, look up – something – but he didn't. Gordon spread his legs straight out in front of him and folded his hands in his lap. He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, waiting for Bruce to say something to him. Moments passed, though, and not a whispered word escaped either of their mouths. Gordon began to wonder if Bruce was asleep.

 

Gordon brought his head back down and shifted his gaze to the younger man. Bruce was still in the same position, but his head was cocked a little to the side, his hazel eyes assessing Gordon. The younger man's face was completely expressionless, aside from the grim scowl on his lips. Gordon sighed and held his hand out to the man next to him. He watched as Bruce's gaze slipped down to his fingers, and then very slowly the billionaire reached out and twined their hands together.

 

“Think you can forgive an old man for being so insensitive?” Gordon asked softly, his voice showing just a hint of sarcasm, to lighten mood. He didn't expect Bruce to forgive him outright, or even to have a sudden change in mood, but the small smile that peeked around the corners of the younger man's mouth was more than enough to let him know that everything was going to be just fine.

 

“Just as long as that same old man can forgive a naïve fool for having bad timing,” Bruce replied, picking up the same tone Gordon had offered.

 

“Deal.” Gordon turned his body slightly to face Bruce, pulling his hand so Bruce was forced to come closer. “C'mere.” He motioned with his finger, and Bruce leaned his head forward until their lips touched. Gordon caressed the side of Bruce's face, fingers tracing down his jaw, to his neck and through his hair.

 

“Jim...” Bruce sighed, and before he could open his mouth to say anything else, Gordon silenced him with short, sweet little kisses along his mouth, stopping only when Bruce looked about ready to give in to him completely.

 

“Bruce...” Gordon started and watched as Bruce's eyes gazed back at him, half open and completely unguarded. “I love you.”

 


	8. Eight

Bruce handled the press when they returned to Wayne Manor to find a yard full of waiting reporters and a flustered Alfred trying to keep them calm, claiming he knew nothing about their allegations and was sure “Master Wayne” would be home shortly to explain everything. It wasn't a secret that Bruce and Jim were friends, good friends, even. So when Jim showed up with Bruce in a taxi it wasn't awkward, but it was a little unsettling considering that Bruce was rumored to have crashed the funeral drunk (and now Bruce wondered who had made up that bit). Certainly Bruce's playboy image could benefit from this; it was, after all, the sort of thing that the facade lived off of.

So the story stuck. Jim slipped into the Manor before they could get to him. Bruce explained to the press that it was completely his fault and that the commissioner held no ill feelings on the matter and that they were moving on from it. When asked, even though drunk, why he had kissed the commissioner, Bruce's answer was simply, “Why not?” said with a delighted, smug smile, teeth bared, and eyes squinted just a little to show off his “I do this daily” attitude. Bruce found he was almost grateful for this distraction; it had been too long since he had been caught in the tabloids as the playboy he was supposed to be. This provided enough cover until he could find himself another excuse without Jim going completely jealous on him.

Bruce could tell, however, that the situation was not going to die down overnight – they were going to need to lay low for a bit.

\------

After Barbara and the kids left, Gordon took Babs home as well. They all had a nice chat, talking about everything but the funeral, even though Barbara kept giving Bruce an evil glare. Gordon thought they had gotten past this, that Barbara understood Bruce's place in Gordon's life. He had made it clear to her when she left that he still cared about her a lot, but her place in his life had changed, and that was by her own doing nearly two years ago. Gordon couldn't help but think there was a bit of jealousy in her now that her ex-husband was finally happy in his life without her. Even if he didn't have Bruce and they tried again, it would never work – they both knew it.

Gordon watched as Babs threw her purse on the couch, flopping down next to it and bending her head back over the top of the couch to look at him. He came up behind the couch, hands on either side of her head, bending over her so that their eyes met. He smiled at her thoughtfully. How she had come to live with him seemed a blur from the past week, and it felt like she'd always lived there with him. His family. His niece – his daughter. A part of him hoped that over time Babs would start to call him Dad, that he could be what she needed enough that she would see him like that(no matter the paternity test outcome). It was a long shot, but it couldn't hurt to hope.

“I'm taking a few days to go to Chicago. A few unfinished things need to be done there and I'd like to get the rest of your things. Do you want to come with me? Or would you rather stay in Gotham with Bruce and Alfred?” Gordon asked her. Babs seemed to consider it, thinking it over as her eyes wandered from his, and then she looked at him again with a little grin, the biggest smile he'd seen her do all day..

“I'd like to go with you. Sort through my things. I don't think I'll need everything.” She turned around on the couch, arm crossed over the back. “Bruce won't be going?”

Gordon shook his head. He hadn't even mentioned it to Bruce yet, but he honestly didn't need him running around Chicago in the Batsuit raising suspicion about why Batman would be there. “No. He's got a company to run. Not sure he has the time.”

“Oh.” She slid backwards off the couch and walked to the kitchen to find her laptop, which was plugged into the outlet. She unplugged it and brought it back over to the couch where she started it up. Well, that was the end of the conversation, Gordon supposed.

“I'll make ticket reservations in the morning,” he muttered and she nodded her head and made a little noise that he assumed was an agreement. He sighed and walked to the kitchen to reheat leftover Chinese food.

\-----

It was around two in the morning when Gordon was woken by the sound of someone crawling through his bedroom window. His first instinct was to go for the gun in the nightstand next to the bed. But there was only one person who could possibly climb to the tenth floor of the apartment building to get to his bedroom window: Batman. Gordon watched as Batman slid through the window and shut it quietly behind him.

“Do you ever sleep at home anymore?” Gordon asked as he crawled out of bed, watching as Batman started to remove the cowl.

“It would be easier if you lived at the Manor with me,” Bruce managed to spit out as he slid the cowl from his head and tossed it lazily to the floor. Gordon raised his eyebrows at Bruce and the billionaire stopped in the middle of taking off the rest of the armor realizing what he had just said. Whereas Gordon had thought about it, it was far from the first thing he wanted to do now that Babs was living with him – though it would make taking care of her a lot easier with Alfred around. No, no...

“Bruce...” Gordon started to say and Bruce stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the older man to quiet him.

“It wasn't an invitation.” Bruce whispered. A part of Gordon was disappointed, the other part figured Bruce was just covering his own ass and didn't want to get an earful for even suggesting it.

“How was your patrol?” Gordon asked as he helped Bruce take the rest of the armor off.

“Quiet. Not too much going on. It really leaves me a bit unsettled. It's almost a calm before the storm.” Bruce tossed the last piece of armor in the pile with the rest. “How's Babs handling everything from today?”

“She barely talked to me when we got home. Told her I needed to go to Chicago to look into a few things and pick up her belongings and asked if she wanted to come with. She seemed disappointed when I told her you wouldn't be coming with us.” Gordon rolled his eyes. He would never have thought Babs would find a role model in a guy like Bruce – well, in a guy like Bruce pretended to be. This made him wonder if Bruce dropped the act all together when he had those one-on-one talks with Babs.

“What made you think I wouldn't be able to go?” Bruce asked, the start of something brewing in his eyes, and Gordon couldn't tell if it was sadness, hurt or anger – or something else all entirely.

“Well, I just assumed. You've been busy with Lucius and that deal you had going in Metropolis. I thought you needed to stay to finish it up.” It was a bad excuse, and not one that was likely to fly with the billionaire. Gordon mentally crossed his fingers and hoped Bruce bought it and moved on.

If only he was that lucky.

“Lucius has that under control right now. I can go.” Bruce assured the commissioner. Gordon knew Bruce just wanted to be there for him and Babs, to spend time with them, to be the family Bruce obviously didn't have. But Gordon knew Bruce was needed in Gotham and that having him in Chicago would just be hard to explain.

“Bruce, I really don't think it's a good idea.” Gordon wasn't sure how to tell the billionaire he just wanted some time with his niece, that maybe a trip to Chicago – her home – would make things easier on them both, and allow for some bonding. “It's going to be boring.”

“You're going so you can investigate,” said Bruce accusingly as he took a step towards Gordon, leaving only a few feet between them. Bruce had a predatory look in his eye, and his body language was slowly shifting from “bat-mode” into something all together wicked. 

“No. I never said that,” Gordon said, trying to defend himself. He knew what Bruce was trying to do, and he was darn good at it. It was the playboy act, the facade that got him everything he wanted. Except with Gordon, Bruce always meant every action – every word. Gordon raised his hands to try to fend off the younger man. “Listen, Bruce. I really just need you to stay here.”

Bruce had a split second of mock-hurt on his face, but his eyes were saying otherwise. Gordon knew this was not what Bruce wanted to hear, and he was slowly trying to turn the tables in his favor using techniques not quite fair to the older man. Bruce was starting to play a very dangerous game with the commissioner, and Gordon knew he wasn't going to stop until he got his way. But Gordon stood his ground – Bruce Wayne always won these little games, and this time Gordon wasn't going to let him get the victory quite so easily.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Bruce asked in a low tone, suave and smooth like melted chocolate. It was a question that would have usually been asked in another tone, something more regretful and maybe even angry, but Bruce was working it into his game, and Gordon could feel himself being pulled into it. It was getting harder to ignore.

“That is a terrible assumption,” Gordon said sternly, trying to regain control of his thoughts. The situation was quickly going in the wrong direction; maybe if he turned this into an argument he could finally win. Bruce took another step closer to him and Gordon took a step back. Mixed emotions were starting to fill Gordon's thoughts; it had been a long time since...

“Maybe. Maybe not.” The tone the billionaire used was one that Gordon remembered from October, in the cemetery at Rachel's grave, when Bruce had revealed himself to Gordon as actually being Batman. It was a seductive tone with a hint of rasp, a tiny bit of desperation. Gordon reluctantly felt his groin twinge at the memory, when everything had changed.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Gordon asked as Bruce took one last step closer and Gordon took one last step backwards, the heel of his foot hitting the floorboard on the wall as Bruce's knee went instinctively between Gordon's thighs just below Gordon's crotch, spreading his legs.

“You need to relax. I think the sexual tension between us is making you irritable. We should fix that,” Bruce whispered as he put a firm hand on Gordon's chest, keeping him from moving while working the drawstring on Gordon's sleep pants with the other. Gordon stared at Bruce in surprise, confusion etched across his face. He opened his mouth to speak but Bruce placed his lips there, swallowing whatever words Gordon was about to say, converting them into a small whine that came from deep in the commissioner's throat.

“Just shut up, Jim,” Bruce mumbled against Gordon's lips. He loosened the waistband and unbuttoned the front flap. Bruce's hand moved roughly over Gordon's chest, to his neck, his hair, pulling lightly as Bruce's tongue did a full search of the older man's warm mouth.

Gordon relaxed against the wall, his body already heating up from the sudden onslaught of sensations that were being thrown at him, in a situation that could very well have gone terribly differently. It had been too long; his groin was already aching for the warmth of Bruce's touch, twitching at the slightest caress. Bruce pulled his lips from Gordon's, giving the older man a sexy, needy smile as he shoved Gordon's pants and boxers to his knees. Gordon watched Bruce's eyes slide away from him as he lowered himself to the floor, keeping one hand firmly planted on Gordon's torso while grasping his penis in the other. Gordon closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall, feeling Bruce's warm, wet tongue close around his penis. Gordon clenched his fists into the billionaire's thick hair, letting out a moan; it had been months since they had actually tried anything past fondling, and Gordon was starting to feel that he might not last that long. In all, it wouldn't matter – they were going to have this moment.

Bruce's tongue wrapped around the head of Gordon's penis while his hand worked the shaft in a steady up-and-down rhythm, now and then reaching out his fingers to caress Gordon's testicles. Gordon let out a deep groan and tried to push Bruce's head away. He wanted to take the situation into his own hands, to let out his frustrations on Bruce, but it seemed that the younger man had other plans. Slowly, Bruce worked a hand into Gordon's pants which had been discarded on the floor beside him, and pulled out the handcuffs.

“No,” Gordon whispered hoarsely ,with a shake of his head, but his body was telling Bruce otherwise; he wanted to ravage the billionaire, but his thoughts were betraying him and he kept perfectly still – maybe he wanted Bruce to take it; maybe it was what he needed. It was fair, was within the unsaid rules they had set silently back at the start of their relationship. He'd let Bruce have this one, but the billionaire would learn his place later. 

Bruce had gotten to his feet, still holding Gordon in one hand, stroking him steadily. Gordon thought for a split second that Bruce would turn him around, cuff his hands behind his back, but something made the younger man stop, drop the cuffs, and tackle Gordon to the bed instead. Maybe it was the sheer trust Gordon had in him, that Bruce would do what he wanted and that Gordon would always trust him; or maybe it was that this moment needed something more intimate then handcuffs.

Bruce sunk his teeth into the flesh of Gordon's shoulder, hands under his hips as Bruce started to grind against him possessively. Gordon circled his arms around Bruce's body, forcing the younger man to straddle him on the bed. Bruce licked a clean stripe up the commissioner's neck, his lips capturing Gordon's again, this time rough, sloppy, wet – completely savage. Gordon slid his hands down Bruce's back to his taut ass, letting his fingers caress down through the cheeks, touching the ring of flesh, feeling Bruce writhe above him.

Gordon reached a hand over to the nightstand and recklessly grabbed the bottle of lube and a condom. Bruce had trailed away from his lips, leaving ravishing kisses down the side of the older man's neck. His lips were now so close to Gordon's ear that Gordon could Bruce's breath hitching in his throat, a small whine behind his tone that he tried to hide. And then the question that they had never asked, as the game had never allowed it.

“What do you want?” Bruce's whisper slipped into a growl, and piece a of Gordon's sanity was lost to it. If Bruce was going to ask, he was going to get what he wanted from this, despite the playboy's efforts to be the one in the control. Except Bruce was handing him the reins, and when the younger man's eyes locked with his he knew that every bit of trust Bruce had in him was being put out there for him; waiting to be taken in and given back in full force.

Though Gordon didn't answer, Bruce seemed to understand. Gordon pulled Bruce down into another kiss, one hand caressing the younger man's face while the other returned to Bruce's ass, lingering and teasing over the tight hole. Bruce mumbled what was probably the word 'fuck' into Gordon's mouth, which in turn earned Bruce a twitch of the older man's penis against his groin. Bruce pulled up and back, Gordon tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth and carefully unrolling it onto his hard penis. Bruce was already preparing with the lube, catching Gordon's eye with a wanton gaze as he crawled back on to the commissioner.

The position had always worked well for them, as neither party had total dominance and they both felt they had plenty of control. Gordon grasped his own penis with his steady hand, watching Bruce slid down onto it, the sudden warmth like a wave of water that washed over Gordon like a tide. Bruce was squatting over him, muscles in his legs and thighs bulging with each up-and-down movement he made. Gordon found he wanted to reach out and control Bruce's movements, but the billionaire was in a zone, eyes half-closed and glazed over with lust. So the commissioner relaxed and reached and reached out take a hold of Bruce's hard penis instead, giving it a rough squeeze each time he brought his fist towards the head. Bruce was now squeezing his eyes shut, teeth biting into his bottom lip, another 'fuck' on the tips of his tongue. Gordon wanted him to say it, to say his name in association with it. It was only a matter of time.

Gordon continued to pump Bruce's penis and lift his own hips up at just the right moment when Bruce came down on him, listening to the slick down of skin meeting skin. Gordon felt the heat rising in his groin, the pressure building as his hips started to buck violently. 

He found himself forming his own words as he saw that Bruce was still holding back the phrase on his lips. “Say it!” he groaned as his thumb swirled around the head of Bruce's penis, and he jerked his hand up, then down over the shaft again.

Bruce's head rolled back on his neck. “Fuck, Jim...” rolled out of his mouth in a whispered moan, Bruce's penis throbbed in Gordon's hand and the older man worked it harder until the billionaire came, the familiar off-white ooze dripping onto his chest. The sight made Gordon spasm, the heat of an orgasm rolling through him as he let out a feral growl and dragged Bruce down into a sloppy kiss.

They pulled apart. Gordon removed the condom and threw it haphazardly into the waste bin while Bruce found the tissues on the nightstand and wiped them both clean. The older man threw himself back against the pillows at the headboard and Bruce crawled into bed beside him, throwing an arm around Gordon's torso.

“I'm going with you. You can't stop me,” Bruce said in a low tone. No, when Bruce put it that way, Gordon really couldn't stop him.

“I hate you,” Gordon grumbled as he placed a hand on Bruce's back and pulled him closer. It was obvious that Bruce knew it wasn't true, that it was merely Gordon's way of saying, “Yes, you can come along” without actually giving in and admitting his defeat.

“We could take my private jet,” Bruce mentioned sleepily, a suppressed yawn in his voice.

“No. If you're coming with us, you're doing this my way.”

 

\------

Jim woke early the next morning, sliding out from under Bruce and cleaning up the mess in the garbage can by the bed, putting the left over condoms and lube back into the nightstand. He threw on a bathrobe and headed out to the living room. He half expected to see Babs already out there with her laptop, but was surprised to see she was not. Maybe the week had finally caught up to her and she was catching up on her much-needed sleep. Which was fine; Gordon himself could have used the sleep, but there was only so much he could really take until he grew restless. Which was why he was awake now.

He turned on the coffee maker and stalked over to the desk to start to search for airline tickets. He vaguely thought about how good it was that he hadn't bought the tickets last night since Bruce had so kindly invited himself along. The thought was beginning to grow on Gordon and he was beginning to realize that maybe he had overreacted about Bruce coming along, that it would be nice to have someone with him to check out the auto body shop and to help pack things and get them in a moving truck. Oh, he had forgotten to tell Bruce that part – they'd be driving back.

It would be fine. Gotham, as Bruce had mentioned, was very quiet as of late. She could do without the Commissioner and Batman for a few days. And time for them all to bond would be good, seeing as Gordon really wanted them to work as a family, and it was obvious Bruce did too. Hopefully Babs would be accepting of it. Gordon was all she had now, and Bruce could be there for her just as much as Gordon could be. They could definitely make this work.

“So are you taking time off work for this?” Bruce asked from behind him. Gordon had just hit the “buy” button on the screen for the tickets, so Bruce couldn't back out when he told him about the moving truck.

“Taking a week,” Gordon replied as he turned to face Bruce. The billionaire was wearing Gordon's extra bathrobe and an older pair of Gordon's sleep pants, which were a bit tight on Bruce.

“A week? That sounds a bit long just to go through some stuff.” Bruce had walked over to the coffee maker and poured two cups, adding only a splash a milk in one and nothing into the other.

“Well, here's the thing, Bruce. In order to get Babs' stuff back here, we're going to rent a moving truck and drive it back.” He smiled, at Bruce, giving him his best impression of the playboy billionaire airhead. Bruce didn't seem pleased. “Oh, come on. It'll be fun.”

Bruce sighed and handed Gordon his cup of coffee. “You tricked me James Gordon.”

“I did no such thing. You insisted on coming along.”

Bruce glared at him over the rim of the coffee mug as he sipped it. “You are in so much trouble.”


	9. Nine

Gordon had gone into talk with Mayor Garcia about the week off he was going to have to take. Garcia, a man who thought Gordon had deserved a vacation long before now, told him to take two weeks, and that he would have Stephens step up to the plate as acting commissioner until Gordon returned. Two weeks was not what Gordon had in mind at all. Two weeks was too much, too long. He only needed the week; what was he to do with the rest?

 

The three of them – Gordon, Babs, and Bruce – were sitting in a small café inside the airport. awaiting their flight. Bruce was dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, had his hair parted differently and wore a pair of Gordon's old sunglasses to keep people from noticing him; the news of the billionaire going on a “vacation” with Gordon and his niece would seem a little suspicious after his antics at the funeral. People had bought the “drunk playboy” story for now, and they didn't need people to start suspecting otherwise. At least not right now. Gordon had every intention that once his brother's case was solved and he knew for sure if Babs was his or not, then he would build up his nerves and let people know. Well, maybe not straight-up – he'd just stop hiding it.

 

“You could take the extra week and spend it with your kids, Jim. And actually, I happen to have the perfect thing...” Bruce trailed off as he slipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and pulled out six of tickets, splaying them out on the table. Babs had a big grin on her face and gave Bruce one of those cute little “thank you” smiles, but she didn't say anything until her uncle agreed to go.

 

Gordon reached over the table and took the tickets into his hands, reading the small print on them. “The Flying Graysons?” he asked as he looked at Bruce. Babs looked up from her phone, to Bruce and then to Gordon, and then right back down to her phone. Gordon had bought her the phone yesterday so she could keep in contact with friends in Chicago, since she wouldn't be living there anymore. At this point, Gordon was willing to give the girl anything as long as she kept showing signs that she was moving past her parents' death. Bruce had warned him that this was not the way to go about it, yet look who was calling the kettle black now? Tickets to a high-rated act that was _always_ sold out.

 

“She asked me last week when she and I went to breakfast.” Bruce took a sip of his coffee and caught the accusing glare that Gordon was giving him. Babs noticed the stare down and decided she should probably be somewhere else.

 

“Uh, I need to use the restroom.” She bolted from her seat took off down the walkway towards the bathrooms.

 

“Really, Bruce? The Flying Graysons?” Gordon said as he handed the tickets back to the younger man. Bruce put the tickets back into his wallet. “Men running around in tights, doing flips and stuff?”

 

Bruce sighed. “It's not just men, Jim. It's a family act made for families. I hear its quite wonderful with a spectacular display of lights and music as well. I think you might enjoy yourself.”

 

Gordon grumbled under his breath; this was not his idea of fun. But Susan had been asking for a little over six months now to go see the show. “I'll have to call Barbara and see if the kids are available next week.”

 

“I've already talked to her.”

 

Gordon furrowed his eyebrows in a bit of frustration. “You what?”

 

“Saturday evening. I had that conversation I said I needed to have with her a while back concerning you and I. We're on slightly better terms now.” Bruce made a so-so gesture with his hand. “But I told her about the tickets and she said if I could convince you to take the time off then Jimmy and Susan could stay the week and go see the show.”

 

Gordon sighed. “And if I hadn't have been told to take two weeks off, how would you have convinced me to ask for more vacation time?”

 

Bruce placed his right elbow on the table and leaned on it, smiling slyly at Gordon. “Don't you know I have ways of breaking you?

 

“Breaking me? So that's what you kids are calling it these days,” Gordon teased as he sipped at his coffee. Bruce glared at him, obviously not the answer he was expecting. “Fine. We can go.”

 

Bruce smiled triumphantly. “You weren't really going to be given a choice in the matter. One way or another you would have gone.”

 

“If that's what you want to believe.” Gordon knew that Bruce was very convincing, especially when he had that twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Bruce was definitely going to be the end of him, one way or another.

 

\-----

 

Bruce and Gordon sat together in the cramped space of economy class seating, Bruce complaining all the while that he wished they had just taken his private jet, and Gordon asking him with how it would look if they did that, which in the end led to Bruce rolling his eyes and grumbling something about Gordon being a big stick in the mud. Babs laughed at him at least five times before the plane even took off. She ended up sitting by the window, Gordon in the middle and Bruce on the aisle.

 

They weren't even in the air twenty minutes when Bruce excused himself to the bathroom. Gordon had warned him not to drink three cups of coffee before boarding the plane. Babs had a book that Bruce had given her from his personal collection of classics – something by John Steinbeck, Gordon wasn't sure what it was. And Gordon was just about to doze off; plane rides always made him tired, and they had been up extra early to be sure to they had gotten everything packed.

 

Gordon had finally dozed off when Bruce returned, sliding into the seat next to him. Gordon opened his eyes a bit, noticed Babs had put her book down and fallen asleep, too. He then glanced over at Bruce, who was staring at him with one of those wanton gazes. Gordon sighed heavily and closed his eyes again, folding his arms over his chest. Maybe if he pretended he didn't see Bruce he could ignore the way the billionaire was looking at him.

 

A hand slipped onto his thigh and Gordon felt hot breath against his ear. “Jim. The bathroom is just big enough for two...”

 

“No.” Gordon said plainly, trying to ignore the sudden twinge in his groin.

 

“Jim...” Bruce drawled out the commissioner's name and Gordon felt the younger man's tongue sweep across his ear slowly. “I'm nervous, Jim. I need some comfort.”

 

Gordon peaked open one eye. Bruce didn't look nervous, if anything he looked flustered and hot under the collar. “Nervous?”

 

“Plane rides. They make me _very_ nervous, Jim.” Bruce ran his hand up Gordon's inner thigh, his fingers caressing the soft fabric of his pants.

 

“You're a terrible liar,” Gordon managed to choke out over an irrepressible moan from deep in his throat.

 

“Come on, _James_.” Bruce growled Gordon's name low into his ear, and drug his fingernails deep into Gordon's sensitive flesh. Gordon wanted to contain himself, to prove that he had the self control a man over the age of fifty should have, but his groin twinged again and he could hear the smirk in Bruce's voice. “You know you want to.”

 

And with that Bruce stood and walked towards the end of the cabin to where one set of bathrooms were. Gordon knew Bruce was going to be relentless about the matter and if there was going to be a stop put to this, Gordon was going to have to go put his foot down. So he waited a few minutes and then stood, following the trail Bruce had taken towards the bathroom. He tapped lightly on it and the door opened, Bruce reaching out to pull Gordon inside by the shirt collar. The bathroom was _not_ made for two people, despite what Bruce had claimed. Bruce reached behind Gordon, locked the door and began kissing Gordon's neck.

 

“Whoa. Bruce. Stop,” Gordon said. He placed his palms flat onto Bruce's chest and pushed him away enough to stop what he was doing. Bruce's lips were red, his face flushed, and Gordon could almost smell the mix of testosterone and cologne in the air; it was enough that Gordon almost gave in – almost. Bruce didn't answer him, but he kept his distance, softly caressing Gordon's clavicle, up his neck, around to his nape and finally dragging the commissioner's head towardshis for a long, needy kiss.

 

Gordon didn't protest; he merely returned the kiss with great enthusiasm. Bruce's hand slipped down the front of Gordon's jeans and rubbed his crotch – that was when Gordon pushed the billionaire away, and watched as Bruce fell backwards on to the toilet. There was definitely not enough room for what Bruce wanted to do.

 

“I am not going to do this,” Gordon said sternly, reaching his hand behind him to unlock the door. Bruce looked up at him with a pleading gaze. Gordon rolled his eyes. “No. No. Bruce, I am not going to have sex with you in the bathroom of an airplane.” It sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, and it felt even more ridiculous to think that Bruce would even consider it. But this was Bruce Wayne, a thrill seeker if Gordon ever knew one. And it didn't help that the younger man had a relentless libido.

 

Bruce simply narrowed his eyes at the commissioner, keeping his mouth shut. He didn't need to say anything for Gordon to get the idea that this wasn't over and he'd be paying for the rest of the week; this meant teasing, obnoxious flirting, public affectionate advances... Gordon could go on to list the possibilities. There was no doubt in Gordon's mind that Bruce was finally returning to normal, if not then some.

 

“Okay then... now that we're both on the same page...” Gordon pushed the bathroom door open, slipped out and walked back to his seat.

 

\------

 

Bruce suggested a hotel. Babs suggested staying at her parent's house, as it would be easier and faster to get things packed this way. Gordon didn't care one way or the other, but the idea of getting this done quickly made a lot of sense, and would mean getting out of there just a little faster. So they rented a small moving truck and drove it over to Roger and Thelma's old house, just on the outskirts of Chicago.

 

They started right away on packing the things that Babs would need. Later Gordon would have someone donate the rest of the stuff, as per Babs' request. She didn't want to keep much of it; she said that the memories weren't ones she wanted to keep and she wanted to move forwards, not backwards. Gordon was highly impressed at how well she had been dealing with the whole situation. Sure, he knew she cried now and then, but he had really expected her to be more depressed over it. Bruce told him that she just hadn't been hit with it yet – that it would either come at her in a blast one day or she would never feel it at all. Repressed feelings, Gordon knew, couldn't be good for her.

 

They were sitting in the living room going through the bookshelves when the topic of Batman somehow came up and Babs immediately asked Gordon if he knew who the masked vigilante really was. Gordon sighed and Bruce laughed.

 

“I've been asking him that for months,” Bruce said with a snort. “He swears he doesn't know.”

 

Babs looked over at her uncle eagerly. “You won't even tell Bruce? Must be some secret.”

 

“I don't know who he is,” Gordon answered, his tone growing slightly annoyed, more so with Bruce for playing the stupidity game. Gordon feared that the day Babs did find out about Bruce she would be angry with them for keeping it from her. Hopefully she just never found out, as unlikely as that was.

 

He caught Bruce's wink at Babs. “It's okay, Jim. I know you're secretly in love with him and thats why you don't want to tell us who he is. I don't mind though, I can share you.” Babs started to giggle, obviously catching the teasing tone that Bruce was using.

 

“That's not funny.” Gordon grumbled. He turned his attention back to Babs. “Look, kiddo. I just work with Batman. I don't know who he is, and I don't know where he came from. We're partners, that's it.”

 

Babs had stopped giggling when she saw the seriousness in Gordon's face. She put a few books into the box, avoiding his gaze. “How do you trust him if you don't _really_ know him?” It was a fair question, and one Gordon had asked himself numerous times before he knew Bruce was Batman. The answer was simple and yet quite possibly the most complex thing in the world.

 

“Sometimes you just have to. There are a lot of people in the world that seem very trustworthy, and your first reaction is to trust them, right?” Gordon asked his niece, who had given her full attention back to him. She nodded slowly. “We all do. It's human nature to trust someone who looks nice, opens doors for us, is polite. But Batman, you just never know what he's really thinking. He's mysterious, he disappears when I'm talking to him, and somehow he knows things about me I don't want anyone to know. How could I trust someone like that?”

 

Babs shrugged.

 

“That's the point. He isn't trying to make me trust him, he isn't putting up that front that says I should. To me, that's the most honest and trustworthy anyone can be with me. I don't need to know who he is to know that when something gets too deep and out of my control – he'll be there.” Gordon watched Babs' face to see if she understood, and slowly the confusion she had in her eyes faded into an understanding, and she nodded just slightly. She was smart, and Gordon knew he didn't need to dumb things down for her, that eventually she would have figured out what he meant. She didn't say anything to him though, just picked up another stack of books and went back to sorting them.

 

Gordon felt a different pair of eyes on him and turned his head to the left to see Bruce gazing at him intently. There was a look in his eyes that showed more emotions than Gordon could actually place, and he seemed a lot more open than Gordon had seen him in a long time. Gordon would admit, he'd never told Bruce exactly how he felt about Batman, what his thoughts were about him before finding out Bruce's secret. Truth was, Gordon probably fell for Batman around the time his marriage started to falter – right when Batman had come on the scene and proved himself a far better ally than half the detectives at the precinct. Gordon, at the time, had chalked it up to a dumb crush on someone he was hero worshiping from a far.

 

Little did he know that those feelings would turn into what he had now, with the man behind the cape and cowl. Bruce was, next to his kids of course, the best thing to have happened to him. Sure, the constant teasing and flirting could get old quick, but he much preferred that over the unpredictable and emotionally unstable Bruce he had dealt with for over six months. And if Gordon was going to be honest with himself today, then he could admit it – he didn't really mind the flirting so much.


	10. Ten

Babs packed only the things that she knew she would want the most: books, clothes, and photo albums. She told her uncle to send the the rest to the Salvations Army for donation. Since she couldn't sell the house until she was eighteen, she asked that they rent it out to someone. Uncle Jim said that was fine and that he would put the house into an agency's hands to get that taken care of for them. The truth was, Babs wanted nothing to do with any of the other things her parents owned; the memories weren't awful ones, but most just weren't worth holding on to. She wanted, as many kept telling her was fine to do, to move on. She had Uncle Jim and Bruce.

 

Bruce and her uncle practically lived together and saw each other more throughout the day than most married couples. She knew this was because Bruce didn't do a whole lot during the day aside from attending meetings at Wayne Enterprises, so he had a lot of time to do as he wished – including letting Babs learn to drive his Lamborghini, even though they had to keep that part from her uncle. Bruce said Uncle Jim would blow a gasket if he found out Bruce was allowing Babs to drive at all.

 

Babs buried her face deeper into her pillow as she tried to keep on pretending she was asleep. She had begged for her own room at the hotel just outside of Chicago, but Uncle Jim had said no (Bruce had said yes). She could hear them in the alcove next to the bathroom arguing over what stops needed to be made on the trip back to Gotham. She had told them that if they drove all day they would get there in no time, but Uncle Jim insisted they stop at all the same places Babs' parents had. Babs almost wished her uncle hadn't been able to get hold of her father's bank card statement; then they could just head back to Gotham. Lingering along the way with two very much in love, always flirting with each other men was not her idea of a good time.

 

Finally the two stopped bickering. Babs heard the beeps of Bruce's GPS tracker; most likely they had finally agreed on a sensible route to take and he was programing it in. Then it got a little _too_ silent. She covered her head with her pillow, aware that any moment she could hear the heavy panting of her uncle and Bruce having one of their heated make-out sessions; they were worse than the kids at her old school during the lunch period. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought Uncle Jim and Bruce were sixteen and she was the one pushing fifty.

 

A few minutes passed and they finally stopped, turning the light out. She peeked out from under her pillow to see them both crawl into the empty bed next to her own. At least they were nice enough to leave the sexual stuff in Gotham – she didn't need to be traumatized.

 

\------

 

Gordon was up early, despite having gone to bed so late, and was making the hotel room package of coffee in the tiny little coffee maker on the bathroom counter. There wasn't going to be enough for both Bruce and himself, but they could always stop somewhere on the way out of town. He heard the shower turn on in the bathroom; Babs had gotten up around the same time he had and he had told her to take her shower first. She had made some snarky comment about him waiting for Bruce so they could shower together. Which wasn't true, and he honestly didn't know where she got the notion that they would even do that with her totally aware of it in the next room.

 

Bruce stirred from the bed on the further side of the room, head still covered by a pillow since Gordon had opened the blinds to _try_ and wake up the billionaire. He should have known better; Bruce was an ace by now at avoiding the early morning light of dawn. Gordon walked over to the bed and pulled the pillow away from the younger man's face. Bruce glared up at him, eyes squinting and an awful grumpy look on his face.

 

“Jiiiiiim...” Bruce whined, trying to reach up for the pillow, but Gordon held fast to it and tossed it across the room. Bruce rolled over so that he was laying flat on his back now, staring up at the ceiling. “Fine. Coffee?”

 

“Very little. You'll have to survive until we stop for breakfast somewhere,” Gordon said, giving Bruce's naked torso a once over, which didn't go unnoticed by Bruce. The billionaire grinned slyly at him and motioned to the bathroom.

 

“When she's done...”

 

“No.” Gordon said. “She already assumes it's all we think about.”

 

“Isn't it?” Bruce teased as he sat up in bed, legs hanging over the side. He took Gordon's hands and pulled the commissioner towards him. Bruce rested his chin against the older man's stomach, looking up at him with big hazel eyes, arms wrapped around Gordon's hips tightly. Gordon ran a hand through Bruce's already tousled hair. He found he was quite happy to have Bruce here with him, to give him some companionship; hearing the ideas of a sixteen-year-old girl only went so far.

 

“Seriously, can I please have my own room tonight?” Babs asked as she walked back into the room, already dressed and hair tied up in a towel.

 

Bruce nuzzled Gordon's stomach and then pushed him away slightly so he could stand. “I'm going to take a shower while you handle this,” he told the older man. He walked by Babs who was actually staring at him in some sort of surprise with a bit of worry etched onto her forehead. Bruce slid into the bathroom and Babs walked over to Gordon.

 

“Uncle Jim?”

 

“Yes?”

 

She looked down at her feet. “Is Bruce okay?”

 

Gordon raised an eyebrow at her, lifting her chin with his finger so she would look at him. “Why would you ask that?”

 

“Well, all those bruises and scars on his back and arms...” she began, and Gordon shook his head with a wispy smile.

 

“Polo,” he said without even a beat. Babs stared at him, but didn't question it. Gordon hoped she bought it like everyone else did, though knowing his niece she wasn't just going to believe it that easily. He'd have to talk to Bruce – have him consider a better cover-up, and ask him to wear a damn shirt at all times around Babs.

 

Babs took the towel off her head and began to dry her hair with it. Gordon sighed, _that was close_.

 

\-----

 

“The polo bit is getting old,” Gordon said to Bruce, and the billionaire looked at him with some surprise.

 

“I'm sorry?” he asked as he took a sip of his coffee. Babs had gone to the bathroom; she had asked to go five times in the last two hours on the road, but Gordon had told her to hold it, because they were not going to stop every time she had to go. The girl guzzled water like there was no tomorrow.

 

Gordon sighed. “Babs was questioning your scars and bruising. She wasn't really buying the polo thing. I mean, do you even play polo?”

 

“No. Are you kidding me? Polo?” Bruce scoffed. “I'll see about having Alfred come up with something better. This was all his idea, anyway.”

 

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Of course. Why not rugby? Or cricket?”

 

Bruce glared at him.

 

“Or not.”

 

Babs returned and slid into the seat next to Gordon, opening her menu. Bruce had decided on scrambled eggs, and Gordon was going the French toast route. Babs seemed to know what she wanted and folded her menu back, staring across the table at Bruce, who had zoned out and was looking out the window.

 

“What were you two talking about?” Babs asked suspiciously. Gordon sighed; it was going to be a long trip back if his niece kept poking her nose where it didn't belong.

 

\------

 

Babs was forced to sit between her uncle and Bruce in the front of the moving truck. She had a book she could read, but Bruce kept looking over her shoulder every few minutes to see what she was reading, and it was getting old quick. Uncle Jim was driving; he told Bruce he didn't want to break the law while in another county, let alone another state. Bruce didn't seem to mind too much.

 

They stopped at every gas station listed on her father's bank statement, every possible diner or café, even one of those stupid tourist attractions that basically sucked money from your pockets and left you feeling unfulfilled. After hours of this she had had quite enough. Bruce had fallen asleep next to her, so she leaned her head against his shoulder and did the same.

 

They arrived at a semi-decent hotel in Columbus, Ohio sometime later that afternoon. “Can I _please_ have my own room?” she begged.

 

Uncle Jim started to protest when Bruce pitched in with his opinion. “It's not a bad idea, Jim. We can get one of those adjoining rooms so if you feel the need to check in on her it wont be that hard to do.” _Thank God for Bruce Wayne_ , Babs thought. He really was quite convincing, and her uncle looked about ready to fall asleep as it was.

 

“Fine,” he said. “I'm really too tired to argue.”

 

Babs smiled thoughtfully at Bruce, and Bruce gave her one of those “it was nothing” looks that made him altogether adorable. Babs found it hard to look at Bruce as being anything other than an extremely wealthy, good-looking man that her uncle dated and women seemed to fawn over; she had seen this first-hand the past week she had been in Gotham. Women just fell head-over-heels to get his attention, and some even shot Babs the meanest glares when they saw him with her. He told her it was all just a game to draw the attention away from him and Uncle Jim. Though, she couldn't help but think there was more to it than that – just as there was more to it than Bruce playing polo and receiving such horrendous scars and bruises. There was something he wasn't telling her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

 

Bruce checked them into the hotel and gave Babs her room key. “Do not touch the mini-bar,” he said sternly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that suggested he was teasing.

 

She snatched the key and went into her own room. “I'll see you two in the morning,” she said and closed the door behind her. She really just wanted to check her e-mail and browse the Internet for a bit before going to bed.

 

A little past two in the morning, she heard muffled cursing outside the room next to hers – Uncle Jim and Bruce's room. She heard the door open and a louder curse from her uncle. She went to the door that joined the two rooms and pressed her ear to it to see if she could hear what was going on.

 

“What were you thinking?” Uncle Jim's voice was muffled but clear through the thin wood door.

 

“Does that really matter right now?” she heard Bruce ask, but his voice was strained, breathless. “Just get the medical kit from the truck, please?” Medical kit? She wanted to knock on the door, to go in and see what was wrong, see if they needed any help, but she got the feeling her being nosy right now would not be appreciated.

 

The door to the other room opened and closed. She kept her ear to the door but couldn't hear much more than a bit of moving around. She went to the door leading out to the hallway and peeked her head out, seeing her uncle returning from the truck with a first aid kit tucked under his arm. He walked by her room and almost missed her, but he backtracked a bit and stared at her.

 

“Babs? What's wrong?” He seemed a little rushed, but concerned at the same time, maybe a bit worried too.

 

“Nothing. I heard some noises and was just wondering if everything was okay?” She didn't want it to sound like she had heard them talking, but just that she was genuinely curious.

 

He smiled at her. “Everything's fine. Go back to sleep.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. He turned around and went back into the other room. Babs shut the door and returned to the joining door and pressed her ear to it.

 

“Now, how did this happen?” Uncle Jim asked Bruce. Bruce made a grunting noise, and then cursed.

 

“Not sure. I was checking out a few things around town. I had a feeling, just as you mentioned the other day, about your brother's accident not being just an accident. I got to thinking you were right. Went to check around the local places, listen into some conversations. I got too close to something. Someone.” Bruce's voice was steady now, as if he had come to grips with whatever pain he was obviously having.

 

“So someone shot you? I'd say you were more than a little close. I'd say you were sitting on top of something they didn't want you to know.”

 

Babs pushed away from the door. She didn't want to hear anymore of that; she was perfectly content believing her parents had died in an accident, nothing else. She went and laid back in bed and tried to fall back to sleep. Maybe it was all a dream anyway... maybe it wasn't real at all.

 

\-----

 

“It wasn't just someone, Jim. It was someone that knew me,” Bruce said as he laid back on the bed, careful not to stretch the new stitches in his side that Jim as just put there. Jim was leaning over him and putting some kind of salve on the wound that Alfred had packed. He looked down at Bruce and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

 

“But that would mean there is a connection between you and my brother.”

 

Bruce placed his palms over his eyes. “Or you, me, _and_ your brother. I didn't get a good look at the guy, Jim. But I know him. His voice was so familiar...”

 

“Bruce...” Jim breathed as he dressed the wound with a bandage.

 

“I know. I don't want to believe it. I don't want to think that he's out to get you, too, now.” Bruce pulled his hands away from his eyes and looked up into the worried eyes of Jim. “We need to get out of here. If he finds out about Babs...”

 

“Most likely he already knows,” grumbled Jim; he started to put the medical supplies back into the kit. “I don't think we stumbled across him, I think he's been following us. There is no way he's just been waiting around this Podunk little town waiting on us to show up – _if_ we showed up.”

 

Bruce was sitting up now, pulling off the rest of the batman armor and placing it back in its suitcase. He had asked Alfred to fly it in the day after they had arrived in Chicago; he had had a feeling he might need it. Of course, he had conveniently forgotten to mention it to Jim, who now that he knew was not too happy with him. But neither had the time to worry about that.

 

“Go wake Babs up and tell her pack quickly. I'm driving.”  


	11. Eleven

 

Gordon tapped on the door leading into Babs' room. He tapped again after a few seconds when she didn't answer. He knew she had been awake not more then ten minutes ago; she couldn't have fallen back to sleep that fast. This time he heard shuffling and she opened the door. She didn't look tired, but she did look as though she had just crawled back into bed in a attempt to look like she'd been asleep. He pushed his way into her room and began packing her things as he spoke to her.

 

“Get dressed. We have to go now,” he said sternly. She was staring at him with her mouth slightly agape, obviously trying to comprehend his rush.

 

“It's really late, why are we leaving now?” she groaned as she found her regular clothes in her suit case and headed for the bathroom. Gordon found her lap top and began to pack it up as well, thinking it was a good thing she didn't bring too much into the hotel room. Bruce had taken their things down to the truck already, despite his injury

 

“There's, uh, been an emergency in Gotham. Stephens called and I'm needed back ASAP,” Gordon said hurriedly.. She walked out of the bathroom and packed the rest of her things quickly, throwing them into the suitcase. He handed her the laptop case as well. “Got everything?”

 

She nodded lazily. “Yes.” He could see the confusion and worry in her eyes. They started down the stairs. Gordon could tell, without even having to look his niece in the eye, that she was suspicious and not at all happy about this late night sneaking around. Gordon took her hand and quickly lead her to the truck, and he helped her inside. He saw Bruce coming from the manager's office, grim-faced and pale. Gordon knew he should probably drive; Bruce didn't look well. He started to suggest it when Bruce climbed into the driver's seat and gave Gordon that glare that burns holes into skulls.

 

Babs looked over at Gordon as if to question Bruce's driving – Gordon never let Bruce drive. He simply shook his head at her. “Later,” he offered and sat down in the seat next to her, buckling up. Bruce started the truck and they were off, quickly.

 

Babs fell asleep on Gordon's shoulder about half an hour into the drive. Gordon saw Bruce glance over. “This is all my fault,” he said in a whisper, as if afraid Babs might still hear him in her sleep.

 

“What are you talking about?” Gordon asked, his voice rough from lack of sleep, head starting to droop a little. He didn't know what Bruce was thinking, but a part of him was hoping it wasn't something that required a lot of brain power to deal with, he was too tired for this.

 

“All of this. With Tommy.” Bruce slammed the palm of his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. “I should have never involved you. This should have been my fight alone. And now he's coming after you and your family. Jim, I...” Bruce was growing more angry, more upset with each word, and Gordon saw the conflict on his face as he tried to keep calm by using one of his many techniques.

 

“Bruce. Stop. This is not the time to start placing blame. If I didn't want to be involved, I would have removed myself from the situation. Neither of us could have known he'd go this far to get revenge for something that happened over twenty years ago.” Or so Gordon assumed. He had never gotten the whole background story of Thomas Elliot from Bruce; he only knew what he had pieced together, and that wasn't much. Crazy childhood friend with jealousy issues, though there was bound to be more to it than that.

 

“I don't think you understand, Jim. I didn't just put _you_ in danger – I put everyone around me in danger, including _your_ family.” Bruce's jaw was clenched tight, and Gordon wanted to reach out and calm him, tell him that he was reading too much into the situation; but that would be a lie. Bruce was right because of whatever Bruce had done to Elliot in the past, he really wanted revenge in any form he could take it. Unfortunately Gordon was a part of that puzzle in the beginning and an even bigger piece back during the Holiday Case. He had a feeling Elliot wasn't just out for Bruce anymore.

 

“Bruce,” Gordon said softly, trying to get the younger man to look at him.

 

But Bruce was silent. He didn't look over at Gordon, and he didn't move his head even an inch for a good ten minutes. Gordon knew Bruce wasn't angry at him, that the billionaire was more angry at himself. Gordon closed his eyes half way and pretended to be sleeping, but kept a close eye on Bruce. Periodically the man's hand tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white, fingers digging into his palms. Gordon wanted to tell Bruce to pull over so he could drive instead, but he had the feeling that might just make the whole thing worse.

 

Instead, Gordon let himself drift off to sleep only to wake around six hours later, accidentally of course, to Babs whining to Bruce to that she was hungry and needed to use the bathroom. Bruce was pulling off at one of those run-down truck stop diners. He parked the truck and told Babs and Gordon to get out, order some food and do what they had to.

 

“What about you?” Gordon asked as he watched Babs walk into the bathroom.

 

“We've been followed since we left. I'm staying out here in case Elliot tries something,” Bruce said as he unbuckled his seat belt and hopped down out of the driver's seat. Gordon didn't complain; he went to wait for Babs outside the bathrooms. Then they ordered a few breakfast items to go and went back out to the truck – except Bruce wasn't there.

 

“Where did he go?” Babs asked. Gordon shook his head and helped her back into the truck.

 

“I don't know. But do me a favor, stay here and lock the door until either Bruce or I come back,” he said as he shut the door. He saw Babs open her mouth to protest but with the door slammed in her face she sat back, and he heard the doors lock.

 

Gordon sneaked around the back of the truck slowly, wishing he had brought his gun with him, but getting it through airport security would have more been trouble than it was worth. He had some hand-to-hand combat skills, fighting in the academy that trained them for things like this... but he was so used to having a gun that he was almost afraid he might have lost his touch. Maybe he wouldn't need either though, maybe Bruce had just had to go to the bathroom...

 

Except that wasn't too likely given the situation. He moved away from the truck and walked towards the side of the restaurant where the dumpsters were. And just as he had assumed, there was Bruce, throwing a punch at who Gordon assumed was Thomas Elliot. Elliot was really crossing a line that Gordon was afraid would make Bruce snap. First, the constant onslaught of criminals broken out of Arkham to distract Bruce and bring him down, then the drugs that were forced on him during his sessions at Arkham, and now _this_. Gordon wasn't sure what this was anymore, if it was to get back at Gordon or another attempt to break Bruce down by going through Gordon, hoping the loss would break him as well.

 

Or was it just a game, with Gordon unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle? Maybe this was what Bruce was talking about; maybe he felt bad for pulling Gordon into something neither of them had a lot of control over. Well, it was too late now; if Gordon had wanted to leave he would have done it a long time ago. He'd invested too much into their relationship – their partnership – to let some whack-o former doctor control their lives through terrorism.

 

Bruce had landed a punch to Elliot's jaw which sent the man reeling backwards to the ground, and then Bruce kicked him in the shin and the face. Elliot was down, at least for now. Gordon ran over just as Bruce fell to his knees and growled in pain. Gordon noticed he was bleeding through his white t-shirt. Gordon placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, offering him his other hand if he needed help up.

 

Bruce looked up at him. “Jim...” It was weak and frail. What Gordon had thought was the same wound from the night before, reopened, was actually a new wound bleeding at the top of his chest. Bruce started to fall sideways and Gordon laid him gently on the ground. Gordon worked quickly to remove Bruce's shirt and tie it around the new bullet wound just above where his heart was. He hoped it had missed anything vital, and so far Bruce was still alive. But that didn't mean he was in the clear.

 

Gordon heard Elliot stir behind him, letting out a disgruntled growl. Gordon looked back quickly to see that the man was struggling to get to his feet, obviously thrown off-balance by Bruce.

He looked down into Bruce's eyes as they started to get that distant, shock-induced glaze. “Bruce, hold on. I'll be right back.” Gordon ran over to Elliot's body and took the gun from his fingers. Elliot was looking up at him, ready to attack, and Gordon shook his head.

 

“You son of a bitch. Don't even think about it. If I had time I'd call you in now or finish you off myself.” And Gordon raised the gun and shot the red-headed bastard in both legs. Elliot screamed in pain, and Gordon threw the gun down on Elliot's chest. “Consider this payback. Except we're far from even.” Gordon turned to go back to Bruce.

 

Elliot was laughing, a maddening sort of rasp in deep, heavy breaths that made Gordon want to turn back and throw a fist right into the other man's jaw. “You make threats, Commissioner, but so far you haven't made good on any of them. I've been winning. This was your one chance to step up and take the medal, but you can't even do that! You're no better than Bruce with your _rules_. Watch your back. This isn't even close to being over!”

 

Gordon felt his hands ball up into tight fists; it took all of his will and strength to keep himself from turning back now. He caught sight of Bruce, and there was no doubt in his mind that the needed to get him help; Elliot could wait. So, Gordon continued forward towards Bruce and knelt down beside him, throwing the younger man's arm around his shoulder, trying to hold him up while Bruce tried to walk the best he could. Gordon was half-dragging Bruce to the truck; people from inside the restaurant had stepped outside to see what was going on with all the gunfire. Gordon tried to ignore the accusing glares. Babs saw him coming and had apparently unlocked the passenger door scooting over a bit when she saw that Bruce was bleeding all over.

 

“What happened?” she asked hurriedly as she helped her uncle place the now unconscious Bruce into a prone position in the passenger seat, his head in her lap and his legs unfortunately splayed down to the floor, which couldn't be helped. Gordon had stripped down to his under shirt and handed his t-shirt to her.

 

“I'll explain later, sweetie. Hold this to that gunshot wound at the top. I'll be right back.” She looked at him, more terrified than he had seen her, even when he told her her parents had died. If Bruce died there was one less person for her to trust in the world, to be her friend... She'd have lost someone else. No, Bruce was not going to die; he was too strong to be taken down by a few gunshots.

 

Hopefully.

 

Gordon walked back towards the group of people gathered outside. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at them. “My friend has been shot. The man who did this is behind the building over there. I'm going to quickly call the county sheriff and let him know what happened. I suggest you all stay away from the man back there though, he's very dangerous.” It felt like talking to a brick wall – people staring at him with big, dumb faces – and once he was through talking they shrugged and walked back inside. As if nothing mattered – as if they didn't care. They don't care. Forget it, calling the police would do no good, not out here.

 

Leaving Elliot to die in his own blood was more than feasible. He made a phone call to Stephens anyway, explaining what had gone down and asking him to call the local police station and have them send someone out to investigate the issue.

 

Gordon headed back to the truck, hopped up to the passenger side and tossed Babs the first-aid kit. “There should be a pair of sterile tweezers and a needle with thread in there. Can you hand them to me?” He was poking around Bruce's already open wound. There wasn't a lot he could do for the fresh one; he did see the bullet, it hadn't gone in too deep. Bruce must have tried to dodge it. Babs handed him the tweezers from the first-aid kit (thank God for Alfred) and removed the bullet; he was no doctor but he was sure it had just missed the bone and wasn't deep enough to hit any vital organs.

 

Babs handed him the needle when she found it. Gordon took it from her and began to stitch up the small wound on Bruce's side. It didn't take much; the hole was small enough, and by the time he'd tied off the end the bleeding had pretty much stopped except for a small amount of oozing. He then stitched up the new wound, where the bleeding was still pretty bad.

 

“Do you have any antiseptic?” Babs asked as she continued to go through the first-aid kit for things that might help.

 

“If it's not there, no.” He stuck one of the bigger bandages over the stitches and shut the passenger door, then slid into the driver's seat. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Once out on the highway he pressed on the gas a little harder, boosting their speed to eighty miles per hour. Getting clocked by highway patrol was the least of his worries as he watched Bruce keep losing more blood by the minute.

 

Babs kept her hand pressed tightly over the shirt covering the fresh wound, but blood kept seeping out. He had a feeling that a two-hour drive to Gotham was not going to be the best idea. A glance at Babs suggested that she knew this as well; her face showed a bit of panic, and her hands trembled over wound. She was a brave girl; had she been any other teenage girl and not related to Gordon, she'd have been down for the count with Bruce.

 

“Okay. We're going to take him to the hospital in the next town. We have to get away from here first.”

 

\-------

 

Everything felt like a blur from the minute they pulled into the emergency lane at the hospital, to the filling out of paperwork, right down to the cell-phone in his hand that was now dialing Wayne Manor. He had to tell Alfred. There was no way this was staying out of the news; it was only a matter of time...

 

“Wayne Manor,” said the pristine voice of the butler on the other end. Gordon let out of a sigh of relief.

 

“Thank God, Alfred,” Gordon said into the receiver of the cellphone. He ran his free hand in his hair nervously. “There's been an accident.”

 

“Accident, sir?” Alfred's tone suggested he wasn't surprised, but there was a worried tension behind it that was apparent.

 

“Bruce has been shot.”

 

\------

 

Gordon had given Alfred the name of the little town they were in along with the hospital name. He was driving over and would be there in an hour or two. He told Gordon not to answer any press questions or talk to reporters if they happened to find out before then; the butler would take care of them himself. So that left Gordon and Babs in the cafeteria. Babs was sitting at one of the tables while Gordon poured himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to start guessing?” Babs asked. She had her elbows on the table top and her face cradled in her two hands, gazing at Gordon from behind those purple-rimmed glasses, with those cool blue eyes. He wanted to tell her, but it wasn't his place.

 

“There is a lot more to Bruce Wayne than meets the eye, Babs. But it's not my place to tell you what that is, and I'm not sure Bruce is really ready for you to know yet.” Gordon sighed as he put his cup down and then placed his palms flat on the table. It was pretty clear Babs hadn't put the pieces together yet, but given enough information she would be able to do so on her own. Gordon would prefer she hear it from Bruce personally; a 'polo accident' was not going to fly for a bullet to the chest.

 

“He's not in any kind of trouble, is he?” she asked quietly.

 

“No, no. Not the kind you're thinking of, anyway. It's been a rough year so far for Bruce. Lots of friends he'd rather have forgotten about keep coming out of the woodwork,” Gordon explained with a half smile. It wasn't a lie; Tommy had been Bruce's friend at some point in his life, even if it was years ago.

 

“He's going to be okay, though, right?” Babs had a worried look on her face, and Gordon couldn't help but be a little amazed. Babs had known Bruce a little less than two weeks, but he had made a bigger impact on her life than Gordon ever thought possible. There were definitely worse people for her to look up to.

 

“He's gone through, uh...” Gordon couldn't really think about it; he'd seen Bruce a lot worse than this back in October, practically bleeding to death in the interrogation room. A bullet wound shouldn't be much to worry about; except usually when Bruce was shot he had on some kind of armor to keep the bullet from going _too_ deep. “I'm sure he'll be fine.”

 


	12. Twelve

Jim was positive Bruce would be fine, but it still didn't stop his chest from aching after all the adrenalin had finally left his system. He sat slumped in a waiting room chair, exhausted; he wanted to close his eyes and sleep the situation away. It wasn't like this had never happened before – Bruce got injured almost nightly. Sure, it wasn't usually bullets to the chest, but every wound could be life threatening if not treated properly. Gordon pushed his glasses up as he rubbed at his eyes with his palms, feeling the fatigue hit him hard, and as much as he wanted to sleep a part of him wouldn't allow him to settle down just yet. He had to know Bruce was alright; despite what he believed, he needed the reassurance.

 

There had already been so much pain between them since the start of their relationship, and this one more piece had the potential to break Bruce down. The billionaire had already started blaming himself for Thomas Elliot and presence in Gordon's life, when it was nonsense. Bruce tried to take blame for a lot of things that were simply out of his control. But that was Bruce Wayne – often over-zealous on saving everyone, fixing everything, and fighting crime. There seemed to be no room for mistakes in Bruce's book, not for himself, anyway. He expected the best of himself and only that.

 

The issue with Elliot was bound to send Bruce over the edge of they didn't catch him soon. Right when Gordon thought they might get him – that shooting him in the legs would keep him down – he's no where to found where Gordon left him. Gordon kicked himself mentally for not shooting the bastard in the head; God knows he'd have deserved it. Gordon had decided back when Bruce had started to detox that Thomas Elliot was going to pay for his actions, one way or another – a bullet in each leg hardly seemed enough to constitute revenge. _No, it's not revenge, Jim. It's merely repayment_.

 

“Jim?” asked a proper British accent from next to him. Gordon raised his head to see Alfred staring down at him, his graying eyebrows furrowed in concern. Gordon wasn't used to Alfred calling him by only his first name, but the ease in older gentleman's eyes suggested that he didn't quite care about the semantics of his word choice of right now.

 

“Alfred,” Gordon said with a breathy sigh as he stood to face the butler. Except, Alfred was more than just Bruce' s butler; Alfred was Bruce's father.

 

“What's the news?” Alfred asked, placing a hand on Gordon's shoulder, comfortingly.

 

“Nothing yet,” Gordon replied. He had found that in the last hour he kept wringing his hands together nervously, and he was doing it again. Alfred even looked down at Gordon's hands thoughtfully and gently put both hands on Gordon's shoulders, promptly pushing him back down into the chair.

 

“I'll go check on Master Wayne's status,” Alfred stated, and Gordon knew there was no point in arguing. The butler turned the corner to go talk to the nurses at the desk.

 

Babs stirred beside him, curled up in a chair. She had fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago, after they had gone to the cafeteria to get something to eat. She adjusted her glasses and looked over at Gordon groggily. He smiled at her the best he could given the situation.

 

“Was that Alfred?” she asked as she sat up in the chair. Gordon nodded, but didn't say anything in return. Babs seemed to notice that Gordon wasn't really taking the situation as well as he would have liked to have been, and she scooted next to him, hugging his arm, laying her head on his shoulder. She didn't say anything either; sometimes there was just nothing to say.

 

\-----

 

It was seven hours before the doctors actually allowed anyone to see Bruce. According to the surgeon who had operated on Bruce, he was pretty lucky. The bullet that Gordon had been able to remove nicked the billionaire's clavicle but otherwise had just embedded itself into some ligaments and muscle tissue. Had Gordon not been able to get the bullet out when he had, there could have been more damage. One of these days Gordon knew Bruce was not going to be so lucky, and one of those injuries was going to be end of him.

 

Hopefully that day wasn't anytime soon.

 

Gordon entered the pristine white room. He had the vague memory of being the visited last time instead of being the visitor. Hospitals made him physically ill, mostly due to having seen so many of his own officers struggle for life here – or when he had watched as Harvey Dent slipped into the realms of darkness, only to die there. And when he saw Bruce lying there, hooked up to monitors, tubes running oxygen through his nose, an IV in his left hand, and two huge patches covering the stitches from both bullet wounds, Gordon nearly broke down. This was the last state in which he ever wanted to see Bruce, and he instantly wished he could trade places with him.

 

Gordon stepped up to the bed, placing his hands on the cool railing. He wanted so much to reach out and touch the billionaire's face, a part of him feeling that if he did then Bruce would simply melt away forever. It was a stupid thought, he knew, but it was just enough to stare down into Bruce's face and know that he was alright – that no matter what, right now he was going to come through this with flying colors. It most definitely could have been a lot worse.

 

 _Thank God for first-aid requirements_ , Gordon thought. He let out a breath slowly, suddenly aware he had been holding it. He pulled a chair around to the side of the bed and sat down. He grabbed Bruce's free hand, twining their fingers together, hoping for some kind of response. Slowly, Bruce's hand squeezed around Gordon's, just enough that he looked up at Bruce's face to see half awake eyes staring at him. The doctors had said Bruce probably wouldn't wake for another couple hours, but they obviously didn't know Bruce Wayne at all; he always recovered quickly. 'Years of training', Bruce had said. Or just years of growing immune to certain drugs, was Gordon's thought. From what Bruce had told him of Ra's al Ghul – which wasn't much – Gordon wouldn't have put it past him.

 

“Well, look who's awake,” Gordon grumbled sternly. As much as he wanted to tell Bruce how much it scared him, he kept the feelings down and to himself. Seemed to him that it was Bruce's turn to get the lecture he had received a little over four months ago.

 

“Where?” was all Bruce managed to croak out, coughing as he tried to clear his airways of the gunk in his throat.

 

Gordon squeezed the younger man's hand reassuringly. “Hospital.” He saw the panic in Bruce's eyes. “Didn't have much of a choice. Couldn't risk you losing more blood on a two hour drive to Gotham.”

 

Bruce closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again he wasn't looking at Gordon; he was looking around the room frantically, assessing his situation. Gordon watched the rise and fall of the younger man's chest, the quickening of his breath, and he knew Bruce was starting to panic even more. Gordon laid a hand on Bruce's chest to steady him, help him think of something else – take his mind off the situation momentarily. If Gordon could get him calm maybe he could reason with Bruce a little, get him to see that a hospital was where he should stay for right now.

 

“It's safe enough here for now. At least for the day. I don't think they would allow me to move you until then, if at all. If the doctor had his way you'd be in for a week,” Gordon explained. He knew Bruce though, knew that with money came power, and that Bruce could pull stunts that no one else could pull off. Bruce would be out of here in a day. Bruce let his eyes come to rest on Gordon, now assessing him with those gold-flaked hazel eyes.

 

“You should get some sleep,” Bruce whispered, voice cracking as he attempted to clear his throat again.

 

“Oh no. You aren't getting rid of me that quickly;” Gordon teased. “You are never allowed out of my sight again.” He reached out with his free hand and cupped the side of Bruce' face gently, letting their eyes meet slowly, and the world around them seemed complete again. There was never a moment that Gordon didn't know that he and Bruce were simply made for each other; everything fit.

 

“Don't ever scare me like that again,” Gordon whispered as he leaned his head towards Bruce's, kissing him gently on the forehead. It was about as tender as Gordon allowed himself to get, especially in public. He pulled back to look Bruce sternly in the eye. “Remember that rule about backup? It now applies to you, too.”

 

Bruce rolled his eyes in annoyance, and Gordon knew the words that were coming next by heart, as they had had this conversation many times, even before the reveal of Batman's identity. “I can take care of myself. This doesn't happen every day. You can't be there every moment to make sure I'm not getting shot at.” Exactly word-for-word what Gordon was thinking.

 

“Maybe you can as Batman, but as Bruce Wayne you don't have any protection.” Gordon relaxed back against the chair, sighing in a bit of annoyance.

 

“I have plenty of protection,” Bruce stated, attempting to give Gordon a flirtatious grin. Gordon pointed at him accusingly; he hated when Bruce tried to get out of situations by using his playboy attitude – sometimes it worked, but not today.

 

“I'm being serious, Bruce. With Elliot running around and most likely recruiting God knows who, you can't be at your best all the time.” Gordon paused and made sure Bruce was paying attention, and this time the billionaire's face was as serious as Gordon's. “You can't be Batman all the time.”

 

“What would you have me do? Hire a bodyguard?” Bruce asked. In most cases he would have said it in a way that suggested he was kidding, but this time Gordon could tell he was quite serious and a bit worried. A bodyguard could be good, but it could also be trouble.

 

“You might consider it,” Gordon replied. “I could ask Gerry...”

 

Bruce shook his head slightly. “No. Gerry has enough to do at Major Crimes. I'll have Alfred and Lucius look into it for me.”

 

“Bruce, it should really be someone you trust. There's a lot at stake. I could pull a few names from the PD, maybe you could pick some from there.”

 

“Jim, you're right, it has to be someone I can trust. So I'll go through my people to find someone,” Bruce explained. Gordon almost felt hurt by that, but he couldn't exactly blame Bruce, either, the GCPD had been known to harbor untrustworthy cops in the past.

 

Gordon sighed. There wasn't much else to say on the matter; he trusted Bruce would have Alfred on it right away. He just hoped 'right away' was soon enough, and that Elliot didn't recover quickly. Gordon found himself wishing, again, that he had just shot the sick bastard dead. Gordon rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair and back down his face, exhaustion and worry overwhelming his senses. There was just never a dull moment, never a chance to catch their breath before something else provoked an attack on Gotham or on their personal lives.

 

_Never going to stop._

 

“Jim, I am so sorry,” Bruce whispered, breaking through Gordon's thoughts; the older man lifted his head to glance over at his companion, who was attempting to sit up in the bed, but wincing with the pain as he tried to move.

 

“Why are you always trying to apologize? No one's perfect,” Gordon said as he stood up, helping Bruce sit up in the bed and straightening the pillow behind his back for more support. “Not even Bruce Wayne.”

 

Bruce smiled at Gordon as he stood, running a hand through Bruce's greasy hair, and Gordon found himself absently thinking that Bruce needed a shower, which lead his thoughts to a sponge bath which actually sounded quite erotic. He gave Bruce a sly, thoughtful look.

 

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “Jim?”

 

“Hm? Oh. Just thinking about all the trouble and care these bullet wounds are going to cause,” Gordon said nonchalantly, still running his fingers through Bruce's hair as he thought about soaping up the younger man, washing all his delicate parts... And now that he thought about it they hadn't once taken a shower together – that would definitely change.

 

Bruce seemed to take notice the change in Gordon's body language and tone, shaking his head. “Is this what it takes to get you to make the first move?”

 

“No!” Gordon said, but his eyes didn't meet Bruce's again because he knew it was true; there was just something about Bruce being helpless that made Gordon more turned on than ever. He thought about how it really was too bad that Bruce was in the hospital. “Well, all I know is that you better tell those nurses no sponge baths.” 

 

Bruce let out a laugh that ended up being a cough and then a groan. He pressed a hand over the wound in his side. “I'll tell them my boyfriend wants the pleasure of giving me my first bath,” he teased, motioning Gordon to bend down over the bed.

 

Gordon dropped his head until their lips barely touched. “You're lucky you're in a hospital bed, otherwise I'd...” He let the thought trail off, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to Bruce just then, causing his groin to twitch.

 

Bruce bit at Gordon's bottom lip playfully. “You'd what, Commissioner?” Bruce egged him on with a tone that had dropped into a deep rasp. Gordon couldn't help but wonder how on earth a man who had just gotten shot could even be thinking this way, let alone have the drive to want it. But Bruce was a bit of a masochist, and Gordon had never taken full of advantage of that tidbit of information.

 

Gordon thought at first that he could easily just spend the rest of the afternoon whispering to Bruce about the naughty things he wanted to do to the younger man, but then the thought that it wouldn't be right to do that in a hospital crossed his mind – especially right after Bruce getting out of surgery.

 

“Well, that's for me to know and you to find out later,” Gordon whispered before standing back up. He didn't hide from Bruce the fact that the thought of all this had turned him on and that he was now semi-hard. Bruce glanced from Gordon's groin to the older man's face. “You'll have to wait until you're discharged.”

 

Bruce pressed his lips together in a little pout. “You're a tease, Gordon.”

 

“You like it, Wayne.”

 


	13. Thirteen

“You have to figure out something to say to her,” Gordon said as the nurse left the room. Bruce now had a fresh bandage on both bullet wounds, looking about ready to crawl out of his skin if he didn't get out of the hospital as soon as possible. It really was just a matter of time until the media and the press found out, and if Gordon was seen there with him, the cover up from the other day might start to collapse around them.

 

“I have to?” Bruce asked as he quirked an eyebrow at Gordon who was standing defensively over him.

 

“Doesn't have to be the whole truth, Bruce. But she is worried and she is curious. Something... believable would be good,” Gordon explained as he pulled a chair up to the side of the bed.

 

“So polo, spelunking, and golf are pretty much out of the question?” Bruce asked in a teasing tone as a sly smile spread on his lips. Gordon just glared at him. “Alright, alright. I'll think of something.”

 

\------

 

Bruce managed to talk his way out of an extra three days of hospital stay by explaining that Alfred had served in the British Army as a paramedic and was more than capable of taking care of Bruce, and besides, the over worked nurses and doctors had patients far worse off than the billionaire. A check for a considerable donation was signed along with release papers to keep the hospital from being sued if something happened to go wrong with Bruce after he left. A small price to pay to keep his privacy and the hope that the media wasn't going to find out.

 

Not that there was a doubt that the press had caught word; it was just a matter of time before they found their clues. Luckily they didn't have any problems driving back to Gotham. Jim and Babs took the truck and dropped everything off at the apartment and Bruce drove back with Alfred, who proceeded to pleasantly scold him all the way to the Manor. Bruce managed to keep a smile on his face; Alfred was the father Bruce had missed out on, the mother he needed and the friend he always wished he'd had in Rachel. Alfred was Bruce's only real family, the only part of his past that remained intact.

 

Except for Tommy Elliot – he still needed to be dealt with, and Bruce was done playing around. Childhood friend or not, Elliot was crossing a line, and Bruce had let him get away with it thus far, but it was going to end. Just the fact that Elliot had brought Jim into the equation – into their childhood tiff – made Bruce even angrier. He had never thought that Tommy would stoop so low just to get back at him. There was revenge, and then there was just plain murder, and Bruce would have neither anymore. If Tommy wanted to play in Bruce's playground then Bruce was going to start setting some ground rules.

 

Alfred had pulled up to the curb of the driveway at Wayne Manor, walked around to Bruce's door and helped him out, even though Bruce was pushing the older gentlemen away. Alfred mumbled something about Bruce being a stubborn pain in the ass. Bruce raised his eyes to meet Alfred's as he stepped onto the curb, reaching out for the butler's shoulder to appease him.

 

“What was that, Alfred? I didn't quite catch that.” Bruce quipped in a snarky tone. Alfred sighed heavily, brushing Bruce's hand off his shoulder.

 

“I don't know how Commissioner Gordon puts up with you,” Alfred replied as he pulled Bruce's bags out of the back of the car and started for the front door. Bruce was close behind him. He had to take the walking slow, the wounds ached and he kept finding he felt out of breath. He'd work on that, because there was no way he was staying down for more than a week, let alone three months. This was just another minor setback – something else to overcome.

 

“He has a lot more patience than you do,” Bruce said to Alfred as he caught up with him on the steps, Alfred unlocking the front door and allowing Bruce to enter.

 

“I'm sure.”

 

Bruce tossed Alfred one of those quirky little smiles that suggested more than Alfred ever wanted to know. He followed Alfred up the stairs slowly. “What do you think I should tell Babs?”

 

Alfred reached the top of the stairs and turned his head back to Bruce briefly. “I don't think young Miss Gordon needs to know about your rooftop escapades, Master Wayne, but I do not suggest blatantly lying to her either.”

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes on the butler; it was the same thing Jim had said to him at the hospital. How did they expect him to tell Babs the truth without giving her the whole truth and without lying? Alfred continued on and put Bruce's suitcases in his bedroom, stopping when he saw Bruce's confusion.

 

“Perhaps telling Miss Gordon about your past with Thomas Elliot would explain the situation to her without giving away everything else, sir,” Alfred offered as Bruce entered the bedroom. It was a good idea. Bruce could always count on Alfred to be insightful, especially when it came to children; Bruce didn't mind kids, but he didn't have a good sense of what needed to be done when it came to taking care of one or even talking to one. Thank God that so far talking to Babs had been like talking to anyone else. Well, as long as he could ignore her whining when things didn't quite go her way, but Bruce figured that was typical, though Jim couldn't give him any insight on that, either; neither of them had any idea what to expect of a teenage girl.

 

Bruce sat down at the edge of the bed. He wasn't tired but he knew if he didn't rest for the next two days he wasn't going to be up for going to the Flying Grayson's acrobat show, which would disappointBabs and only annoy Jim, who would end up taking Babs, Jimmy and Susan by himself – Bruce would never hear the end of it and Jim would constantly remind him of how much Bruce owed him.

 

Alfred picked up the armored suitcase and started for the door. “Cave?” he asked the younger man. Bruce nodded.

 

“Please,” Bruce replied with a nod.

 

\------

 

Gordon took Alfred's sound advice when they left the hospital and let Bruce rest a day before he and Babs made their way over to the Manor. Babs hadn't brought up Bruce's injuries or anything else having to do with the incident, but Gordon could tell she was curious. Every now and then she had a look on her face that suggested she was thinking about it, worried and unsure what to think. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't important, it wasn't something she needed to think about, but the fact was it had more to do with her than she would hopefully ever realize.

 

There was no way he would ever be able to tell her that Elliot had killed her parents – if she ever found out about Bruce and how he took revenge for his parents' death then she would be likely to follow suit. Gordon would prefer she didn't; what Bruce did was dangerous, and a sixteen-year-old didn't need to be doing that.

 

Hopefully Bruce had some up with come good explanation for Babs because Gordon wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep anything from her concerning Elliot. They walked into the Manor to find Bruce coming down the stair case slowly, grasping the rail and rubbing in the wound at his side. Gordon wasn't about to run and see if he needed help, but Bruce had his hand up, palm out, to stop him.

 

“I'm fine,” the billionaire said. Bruce took the last few steps quickly, giving Gordon a small smile, but the older man could see the pain behind Bruce's eyes. Bruce never took pain medication though; he always battled through the pain as though it made him stronger to pull through on his own. Gordon thought it ridiculous that Bruce wouldn't take anything, even to take off the edge. But this was the man behind the cowl, and he was ever the masochist.

 

Bruce held his hand out to Babs, giving Gordon a knowing glance. “Can we talk in my study?” he asked her as she took his hand and they started towards the back of the Manor.

 

“Bruce...” Gordon warned, knowing full well that the study lead to the 'batcave'.

 

Bruce threw a glance back to the older man to suggest that he wasn't doing anything drastic. Gordon made his way towards the living room.

 

\------

 

Bruce settled Babs into the desk chair, sitting down on the edge of the desk himself, turning to face her. She looked a little confused but also had a curious look about her, as if she knew what Bruce was going to say to her, that soon her confusion would just disappear. It was then that Bruce wished he had never gone on that trip with her and Gordon – things were going to change in the near future and he could already tell it was going to be all his fault.

 

Again.

 

“It's been brought to my attention that I should probably explain a few things about what happened,” Bruce said. She had her hands folded in her lap, rubbing them together nervously. Bruce began to think that maybe she was expecting the worst of him, of the situation. He couldn't say that it was a good situation, but it wasn't as if he were a murderer or anything. So he put a smile on his face to reassure her.

 

“Barbara, have you ever had a friend who blamed you for something that wasn't even your fault? And no matter how much you reasoned with them, they just couldn't see it any other way?”

 

Babs' eyes seemed to register her understanding of what Bruce was getting at and she nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Alright. When I was about eight, I had a friend named Tommy. We were best friends. But one night Tommy's parents were in a freak car 'accident'. His father died and his mother lived, due to my father saving her life. My father was a doctor. Tommy was forced to live with his mother, who kept him on a very tight leash.” Bruce paused to make sure Babs was following. She was. “It came to my attention within this last year that Tommy was the one that caused his parent's car accident all those years ago. Apparently he hated his parents quite a bit. He ended up mad at me for a few reasons. One was that my father saved his mother's life and the other was that when my parents died I got to do the things he always wanted to, but couldn't because his mother kept that hold on him and the money his father left.”

 

Babs scrunched up her face. “But when his mother died wouldn't he have gotten the money anyway?”

 

“Yeah. He didn't see it that way. He wanted his life to start the moment he tried to kill them both. He's just always held that grudge. Unfortunately, he's tried a number of times to get back at me, usually by means of hurting those around me. It just happened that this time he actually did try to kill me.”

 

Babs got very still, and Bruce watched her swallow visibly. “Bruce. I may have overheard you and Uncle Jim talking the other night when you first got shot. Did 'Tommy' kill my parents?”

 

“I'm not entirely sure.” Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to think.

 

“But Bruce, you said he's been trying to get back at you by hurting those around you. If he knows about you and Uncle Jim...”

 

“He does.”

 

“...then he _would_ do that, right?” Babs' eyes were pleading with him, and he had no way to say no to her, or to lie. It was obvious that Elliot had killed Gordon's brother and sister-in-law; he was the only person to know that it could potentially break them. And yet, thank God, it hadn't; it only brought them closer.

 

Bruce began to wonder just how much Babs had over-heard the other night, but she wasn't bringing up anything else, so maybe he was still safe. “Your uncle is still checking into things at the station. There's no proof yet that Tommy was the killer.”

 

“I'm not a kid, you know. You don't have to dumb things down for me.” Her voice had started out quite small and had risen as she went on, obviously growing quite angry and even annoyed at the thought that Bruce and her uncle weren't treating her as an adult.

 

“Babs... I'm not trying to. There's so much that hasn't been investigated yet that we just don't know for sure.” It had slipped out before he had a chance to reclaim what he said, to backtrack and start again. Too late.

 

“We? So you do work at Major Crimes?” Babs asked. Bruce could see it in the young girl's eyes, the recognition, the need and the desire to know everything. Bruce felt utterly exposed; there were very few people to whom he would openly admit to being Batman, and he never wanted one of them to be the niece of Jim Gordon.

 

“Well...Wayne Tech helps out quite a bit with the technology...” Bruce started, and then he saw Babs' face fall, as if she knew he was lying to her. He moved in a little closer, bending at the waist to meet her eyes, even though it hurt the bullet wound at his side to do so. “Yes, I work with your uncle. It's very complicated and its not something I talk about to anyone but your uncle. It's pretty top secret.”

 

Babs smiled, despite the tears that had formed in her eyes, probably from thinking about the death of her parents and Elliot. “Bruce... I said I wasn't stupid. I won't tell.” It was stated as a fact, as if he didn't have to tell her, and she could simply place together the pieces she was given. It wasn't hard to figure out, Bruce knew, when you knew him outside of the playboy persona. Batman had lots of cool gadgets, things not many people could afford; it only seemed feasible that Batman would be Bruce Wayne, or at least someone who worked for Wayne Enterprises. No, Babs was definitely not stupid.

 

Bruce didn't say anything.

 

“Just tell me, do you _think_ this 'Tommy' guy killed my parents?”

 

There was no lying to her anymore, and Bruce knew for a fact that Jim was going to kill him for this. “Yes,” Bruce said with a grimace. He watched a certain fire in her eyes ignite, something familiar and cold, undeserving of the attention she was providing it. He knew the rage well, and he knew the question that was going to spill from her lips any second, and he could honestly say he wasn't ready with an answer, because whatever the answer was, someone was going to get hurt.

 

“Can you teach me?”

 

Bruce quickly shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

 

“This guy needs to pay for what he did. Your parents were murdered. That's why you do what you do, isn't it? Revenge?” Babs questioned. Her voice was growing louder, and Bruce could hear the hatred shake in her.

 

“It was one reason. I do what I do for Gotham. So it doesn't happen to anyone else. It doesn't always work that way though.” He was glaring down at the floor, avoiding her gaze; he didn't need to see it to know the look she was giving him was far from understanding. “Tommy will be taken care of. I promise. But I can't let you take the same path I did. You have a brighter future to look forward to, more to accomplish.”

 

“I just want to do what's right. I trained in self-defense back in Chicago. It wouldn't be that hard to train me.” Babs was begging now. She had dropped her tone down and Bruce could hear the small whine of tears straining her voice.

 

“It's out of the question,” Bruce said as he slid off the desk, feeling the strain of the conversation in his chest, piercing his heart and his breath quickened as he struggled for a minute to breathe through the pain. “Your uncle would never forgive me. This stays between you and me.” He walked out of the room and down the hall. He didn't want to break her heart, but a sixteen-year-old training to fight crime, to serve-up justice on a silver platter was the most ridiculous thing he had heard in a long time. He didn't need that on his shoulders. He didn't need Babs throwing her life away for some foolish notion that what Batman stood for could be what she stood for.

 

Bruce was sure she would hate him now; but he could live with a little hate if it meant that it kept her from tangling with the wrong people. Bruce sighed as he walked the past living room where Jim was sitting reading the newspaper, and took the stairs up to his bedroom. He was not in the mood now to deal with anything. They had the show tomorrow and he was suddenly feeling very drained.

 

“Bruce?” Jim called after him. Bruce stopped only briefly.

 

“You should probably go to talk to your niece.”

 

\-----

 

Gordon found Babs in the study completely quiet, looking really lost in her own thoughts. He saw she had been crying, but she had since stopped and now looked very angry. He tried to smile at her but her face kept that deep brooding darkness.

 

“Why does everyone treat me like I'm a child?” she asked after a few minutes of silence. Gordon wasn't sure he was following – he wasn't even sure of what Bruce had told her – but he was starting to get an idea. Babs looked up at him from the chair. “It's not fair.”

 

“What's not fair, sweetheart?” Gordon asked, kneeling down next to the chair. She looked at him like he was doing something wrong, and he stood back up – things like that must be what she was talking about. _Treat her as an adult; it's what she wants_.

 

“I know about my parents. I want to help bring the man responsible to justice. I want to be the one to see it in his eyes when I take him down. I want him to know that he didn't win, but I did.” Babs spoke in a rigid tone. Gordon shook his head, a part of him dying as he heard it. She sounded like Bruce, sounded like Batman. She had to know.

 

For once Gordon was at a loss for words. He was good at consoling Bruce, in fact he knew how to do it by heart now; but this was Babs... This was a young woman whose future hung in the balance. She wanted what Bruce had wanted when his parents were murdered; to see the man brought down, to see the fear in his eyes, to make sure it never happened to anyone else. It was noble and in most cases Gordon would go with it and encourage it. This wasn't most cases,however, this was his niece, possibly even his blood daughter – most of all, she was just sixteen years old. Sixteen was hardly old enough to make a wise.

 

“What did Bruce say?”

 

Babs sighed. “He said no.”

 

“You're a bit young to be thinking vengeance. I'd like to see you be more focused on school. Maybe when you graduate high school you can think about it again,” Gordon said, taking a deep breath. “You know, Bruce didn't jump right into crime fighting. He went to school, and I think he was 23 when he went off to start training.” Gordon was hoping that if he could convince her to wait until she was out of school then by the time she did graduate she would have forgotten about the whole the thing, and if not, she would be an adult by then and could decide for herself – hopefully Bruce would have given her enough horror stories by then to steer her off course.

 

Babs seemed to perk up a bit and held her hand out to her uncle. “If I promise not to bring it up until I finish school, I can do it?”

 

Gordon took her hand, a part of him regretting this pact already. “Yes. When you finish high school we'll talk this over again.” Now to warn Bruce that they could potentially have a situation a year or so from now.

 

\-----

 

Bruce was attempting to take his shirt off when Gordon walked into the bedroom, watching the younger man struggle to get the clothing over his head. The stitches in his upper chest were hard not to pull when getting dressed and undressed, and so far Bruce had been wearing robes or button ups, but today he had worn a pull on t-shirt. Gordon shook his head and approached Bruce, taking his arm and part of the shirt and helping him the best he could to get the shirt off.

 

“Thanks,” Bruce grumbled. “Babs okay?”

 

Gordon nodded, taking in the sight of Bruce's naked torso, muscles flexing below his abdomen, chest tightening as he moved towards the dresser to grab new bandages for the wounds. Gordon knew it shouldn't turn him on, that the sight of Bruce being wounded should make him break in to 'concerned and caring' mode, but he could help but feel the need to take total advantage of Bruce – it wasn't everyday that Bruce couldn't fight back.

 

“She's fine. Made a deal with her.”

 

Bruce raised his eyebrows at Gordon as he peeled off the bandage on his left side. Gordon hated to see the younger man clean the wounds himself and pushed Bruce to the bed playfully, taking the bandages from him. The older man checked the stitches for infection, but so far Bruce seemed to be healing just fine, even if the wound was still oozing a bit.

 

“A deal?” Bruce asked with a grimace as Gordon touched the skin around the stitches to place the new bandage. In a few days Bruce wouldn't need these; the wounds would hopefully have healed enough not to ooze anymore. Gordon grabbed another bandage and then peeled the old one off the upper right side of Bruce's chest.

 

“Told her that if she made it through school and still wanted to train she would be old enough to make that decision for herself,” Gordon said, checking the second wound now and then replacing the old bandage with the new. He watched as Bruce grimaced again as the older man's fingers trailed across the bumps of the stitches under the bandage.

 

“You obviously don't know that her hatred for Elliot isn't going to falter. She's just going to want it more by then,” Bruce said as he laid back on the bed, his left arm behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

 

Gordon shrugged. “Maybe so. I won't be able to stop her when she's eighteen, though.” He sat down next to Bruce, letting his urge to touch the billionaire consume him. He reached out his fingers and began to trace them up Bruce's belly, to his ribs, chest, neck – careful to avoid all the danger zones. He leaned over Bruce to gaze at him, holding eye contact.

 

“Maybe I should start her on basics,” Bruce said lazily, his voice softening into a whisper.

 

“Maybe. Can we talk about this later?” Gordon asked as he lowered his lips onto the sensitive skin of Bruce's neck, leaving a trail of kisses leading to his ear. Bruce turned his head sharply towards Gordon's, catching his lips with his mouth, letting out a deep sigh. Gordon wanted, to be gentle and kind, to show Bruce that they didn't have to be rough all the time. But a knock at the door forced them away from each other.

 

“Come in,” Bruce said as he gazed at Gordon apologetically. Alfred entered the room, apparently aware of what they were up to. He gave both Gordon and Bruce accusing glares.

 

“I do hope you both take into consideration the doctor's recommendation of waiting at least a week before any physical activities,” the older gentleman said promptly. Gordon and Bruce exchanged glances and shrugged.

 

“'Recommended' being the keyword, Alfred,” Bruce retorted smugly. Alfred sighed as if he was being pushed aside. Gordon knew the man was used to being Bruce's keeper and that Bruce _usually_ listened to him, or at least took his advice to heart.

 

“Very well. Dinner will be ready soon. Miss Gordon and I are preparing dessert, so when you two are through here, we'd like you to join us down in the dining room.” And with that Alfred left.

 

Gordon started to chuckle, scooting off the bed to find Bruce a button-up shirt from the closet. Bruce groaned. “He's getting worse.”

 

“Well, maybe we should take the doctor's advice for a week,” Gordon said as he helped Bruce into the shirt. Bruce glared at him.

 

“Since when have I ever done what I was told?”

 


	14. Fourteen

After dinner Gordon and Babs sat in the living room with Bruce. Babs mentioned being too tired to drive back to central Gotham to go to bed. So Bruce asked Alfred to make up the guest room while they stayed down stairs for a little while longer. Gordon could have waited until the morning to talk to Babs, to let her and Bruce think the situation over, let what he said to both of them sink in; but Bruce had other plans.

 

“Babs, since Jim has so decidedly told you that in two years you can make your own decisions on whether you go to college or fight crime – I thought that it being the case you should start some martial arts classes downtown,” Bruce said as he leaned back on the sofa, grimacing as he did. Gordon felt for the younger man; getting comfortable anywhere was not easy after two gunshots wounds.

 

“Why not with you? “ Babs asked eagerly. Bruce slid a glance to Gordon who sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest to suggest he was staying out of it.

 

“I wasn't exactly trained in any one real martial arts form. I honestly think it would be better for you to learn at least one form first,” Bruce explained, and Babs rolled her eyes and mumbled something about that not being quite fair, but she didn't give a direct answer. Gordon knew Bruce had won that round. He would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved for it; Bruce had a good style, but it always seemed dangerous.

 

Alfred walked down the stairs and Babs quickly got to her feet, kissing Gordon goodnight on the cheek and carefully giving Bruce a hug, which surprised even Bruce. Maybe she understood better than she wanted to. She then said goodnight and headed upstairs.

 

Gordon narrowed his eyes on Bruce who shrugged innocently and then gestured upstairs. Which was how they happened to be in Bruce's bedroom a few minutes later, Bruce seated on the edge of the bed and Gordon at his feet ,taking the playboy's shoes and socks off. He then stood, helping Bruce to his feet and began to undress him the rest of the way, starting with his shirt, fingering the little shiny buttons and very gently pushing the material down over Bruce's shoulders until it hit the floor. A little blood had seeped into the carefully placed bandages, so it was definitely time to replace them.

 

Gordon gently removed each one and threw them in the garbage. Bruce was looking at him openly. “So, what's the plan?”

 

“I think it's pretty obvious, Bruce. You need a bath. And I'm going to help you,” Gordon said flatly. He didn't want Bruce to assume too much; the effect of surprise and yearning wouldn't be quite the same.

 

Still, Bruce read too much into it. Gordon knew he'd have to make this interesting. He unbuckled Bruce's belt and threw it in the corner, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the fly down, tugging the waist of the pants and boxers down together with his thumbs. Gordon was very careful not to touch Bruce anywhere during this process, which only seemed to make the billionaire more antsy, as he tried desperately to push his groin into Gordon's hands as they swept past with the pants and boxers. Leaving them on the floor, he stood and helped Bruce step out of them, leaving him completely naked.

 

“And what about you, Commissioner?” Bruce asked teasingly, looking the older man up and down. Gordon shrugged as he took Bruce by the hand and lead him into the bathroom. Gordon had asked Alfred to bring up a stool earlier, and the older gentlemen had rolled his eyes, but obliged. Bruce was staring at the stool as Gordon continued to guide him to the bath, turning the water on and helping Bruce step into the tub that was now filling with warm water.

 

Bruce was glaring at him. Gordon used the best innocent smile he could muster in the situation, considering he was staring at a stark naked Bruce, completely confused and completely vulnerable. Gordon helped Bruce sit down in the tub, and he sighed heavily when Gordon had _not_ started to remove his own clothes to join him. Gordon took the cup and wash cloth that Alfred had left for him off the counter. He filled the cup with water and then sloshed it gently over Bruce's head, careful to have the rest fall down the billionaire's back. He then proceeded to wash Bruce's hair, running his fingers through the soapy strands, massaging his thumbs into Bruce's neck, feeling a lot of the man's tension leave his body.

 

He rinsed the soap from Bruce's hair and then set the cup down on the counter, picking up the wash cloth and dipping it into the water. So far there was no exchange of words, but Gordon could tell that any moment now Bruce wouldn't be able to keep his thoughts to himself. And he was right.

 

“This isn't exactly what I was expecting when you said you'd help me bathe,” Bruce said coldly as he propped himself up against the side of the bathtub, his back to Gordon. Gordon started to wash around the stitches on Bruce's upper chest, care not to pull too hard around the edges.

 

“Well, submerging open wounds in water isn't really a good idea, Bruce,” Gordon explained, dipping his hand down into the water to rinse the cloth, head dipping close to Bruce's ear, close enough that Gordon's mustache brushed ever so slightly against the younger man's skin. Gordon steadied himself with his other hand on Bruce's shoulder, feeling the goosebumps form on the billionaire's skin. They hadn't gotten to finish their 'alone time' earlier, and Gordon knew Bruce was aching for a release – had been since the last time they'd had sex a little over a week ago.

 

Bruce leaned back into Gordon's touch, bending his head to the side, a gesture for Gordon to finish what he had started early that day. Gordon slid the cloth over Bruce's chest, squeezing the water in a cascade over the younger man's toned muscles as Gordon planted a feather light kiss on Bruce's neck. Gordon ran his free hand up the side of Bruce's neck to his hair, running his fingers though the soft, wet strands he had previously washed. Gordon let the hand with the cloth roam down Bruce's torso, gently caressing with his fingertips, stopping when he reached his hip bone. Gordon kissed a line down to Bruce's left clavicle, flicking his tongue against the soft spot, feeling Bruce wriggle beneath the touch; a soft sigh choked in his throat came out a strained groan.

 

Letting go of the washcloth, Gordon slowly traced his fingers along the outline of Bruce's hip bone, following the sensitive line down to the younger man's groin. He rested the hand on Bruce's inner thigh, hunched over him, chest to back, mouth firmly on the other man's shoulder, feeling Bruce' shudder under him. Gordon nuzzled Bruce's neck with his nose, bringing his lips to the other man's ear.

 

“Is this more of what you had in mind?” he asked sensuously, a tone he rarely used even during sex, reserved only for certain occasions when he felt it was best called for. Gordon took his glasses off with the hand that had been in Bruce's hair and placed them on the counter. He went back to kissing Bruce feverishly along the neck, down his jaw line. Bruce mumbled something that Gordon couldn't quite hear, focused too much on the quickening of Bruce's pulse at his neck as each kiss Gordon planced made the billionaire's heart race faster.

 

Gordon let the hand he had on Bruce's thigh slide over Bruce's already hard penis, taking hold of it in his calloused hands, starting a slow stroke up and down the shaft, touching the underside of the head with his thumb nail, feeling Bruce tense with each flick. A groan escaped Bruce's mouth as his head rolled back against Gordon's chest, eyes tightly shut, teeth white against his reddening lips, biting. Moments like this, moments that Bruce actually let Gordon take what he wanted, take complete control of everything, let Gordon know that there was a piece of Bruce that could let go and let someone do something for him for a change.

 

For a brief few seconds Gordon felt completely paralyzed at the sight Bruce, face flushed, body jerking at Gordon's touch, hips bucking at each stroke, hands balled into tight fists as he tried to control himself but wanting to give in at the same time. Finally Gordon stopped, grabbed a few bandages from the counter and began to apply them to each wound. Bruce was breathing heavily, taking hold of his own erection, which started to turn Gordon on even more. He finished with the bandages, standing from the stool and began to help Bruce out of the tub, finding it hard to keep his hands off the perfect, naked form in front of him. Bruce pressed his whole body against Gordon's as he stepped out of the tub.

 

“You know, there is something wrong with this situation,” Bruce whispered as he gestured to the clothes that still covered Gordon's body. Gordon didn't bother with a towel and led Bruce straight to the other room, pushing him as gently as possible to the bed. Gordon pulled the bottle of lubricant and a condom from the drawer of the night dresser and tossed them to the bed for later.

 

Gordon removed the undershirt he had been wearing, now a bit damp thanks to Bruce, who was now watching him intently while stroking himself in a long, slow fashion. Gordon unbuckled his belt and threw it to the floor while unzipping his pants and letting those, too, fall to the ground along with his boxers. He promptly stepped out of both, getting on his knees on the edge of the bed, scooping Bruce's legs over his shoulders, and burying his face into the crease of his hip and thigh, taking in the masculine scent of the man below him, feeling his own erection harden at the realization that it was for Gordon alone that Bruce was yearning. Gordon left a trail of kisses towards Bruce's penis, nipping under the shaft, enveloping the head with his mouth, swirling his tongue down the shaft. Gordon moved his lips down the shaft again, licking a clean stripe down to Bruce's anus, taking his hands and spreading the billionaire's cheeks. He flicked his tongue teasingly against the hole as Bruce tried to wriggle away, hips thrusting towards the ceiling, hands in Gordon's hair, tugging at the strands he had gripped.

 

“God, Jim. Don't be such a tease,” Bruce growled as Gordon slid his tongue into Bruce, wetting down the hole completely before moving his face away from Bruce's ass, leaning over him to grab the lube and condom. Bruce was gazing up at him in a daze of lust, eyes predatory and wanting, and Gordon knew Bruce felt almost helpless with the wounds, wanting to contribute to the game and take over. Gordon shook his head with a sly grin.

 

“Relax.” Gordon whispered as he ripped the condom wrapper open and rolled it down over his own erection and squirted lube onto his penis. He lifted Bruce's legs and hooked his forearms unver Bruce's knees, the younger man's hips rising up to meet Gordon's as he pushed his length into Bruce, feeling the muscles in the other man's ass tighten around him, holding Bruce's hips with his hands to control the rhythm. Gordon thrust into Bruce, grinding the man's hips down on to his, squeezing his own eyes shut, a burst of heat running through his veins, the animal in him taking control and forcing him into Bruce harder and faster, the sound of Bruce's voice begging for more only contributing to the sheer force.

 

Bruce made a strained groan, hands at his sides tangled in the bedsheets, whispering little dirty words Gordon couldn't quite hear over the sound of slick skin slapping together, the blood rushing in his ears and his own monstrous grunts. He felt his own chest heave, and his body start to shake in violent, heated rage as all the feeling he had been experiencing was drowned out by the spasm he felt in his groin – another thrust and another and he orgasmed in Bruce, who had his hand on his penis waho was working himself into frenzy. Gordon continued to thrust his hips, slower now that he wasn't in a hurry anymore, taking hold of Bruce's penis for him, and working it over with his hand in rough jerking strokes. It didn't take but a few seconds, Bruce had been on his last legs as it was.

 

“You are so going to pay for this,” Bruce whispered breathlessly, as Gordon pulled himself out and walked back into the bathroom to throw the condom out and pick up a towel. He returned, cleaning off first himself and then Bruce.

 

“I'd like to see you try,” Gordon said as he threw the towel to the floor and crawled over next to Bruce on the bed.

 

“Is that a challenge?” Bruce looked Gordon over as if seizing him up, probably wondering if he could manage to get the commissioner under him without popping any stitches.

 

Gordon leaned over Bruce and placed his lips against his, whispering, “No.” And Gordon kissed the younger man long and hard, until they were both completely breathless. They parted, Bruce still on his back to keep the stitches from breaking, and Gordon, for once, curled up at his side, arms around the billionaire possessively as both fell asleep.

 

\-------

 

Gordon woke the next morning to the realization that he had less than one week of vacation left. It felt a little weird to wake up and not have to head straight to Major Crimes. He had sneaked in a phone call to Gerry yesterday afternoon before he and Babs drove over to Wayne Manor. In Gordon's absence nothing out of the ordinary happened, but Gerry did mention that Arkham had let go of a few “cured” patients, which seemed unlikely since most people in Arkham were considered incurable. Gerry didn't seem too worried about it, but he also couldn't find a list of who the patients were and that made Gordon just a little bit uneasy. He was sure it was nothing though, and bothering Bruce over it didn't seem like a good idea.

 

Gordon rolled over expecting to see Bruce asleep next to him, but he found an emptiness instead. He sat up quickly, looking around the room for the clock; only eight in the morning. It was unusual for Bruce to be up so early when he didn't need to be. Gordon found his clothes and quickly dressed and headed down the stairs to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in his direction. Bruce was already dressed – nice trousers, crisp white shirt and light green tie – and sitting at the counter talking to Alfred with a big grin on his face. It was the first time Gordon had genuinely seen Bruce smile since before he was shot. It was good to see that he was taking, from what it seemed anyway, everything so well.

 

But that didn't mean Bruce wasn't brooding about it on the inside – in fact Gordon was sure the billionaire was thinking of some way to convince Gordon to let him go patrolling sooner rather than later. And if Gordon knew Bruce well enough, he'd try every move in his little playboy book to get Gordon to let him. It wasn't like Gordon could stop Bruce, really, but it seemed lately that Bruce tried harder to do things that appeased the commissioner rather than made him regretful. Gordon liked that he didn't feel he had to worry that Bruce was going to go behind his back all the time to do things, even though Gordon himself had been going behind Bruce's back to smoke, but he had a suspicion that Bruce knew anyway and just wasn't giving Gordon grief about it.

 

“You're up early,” Gordon grumbled as Alfred handed him a mug of coffee and he went to sit next to Bruce at the counter. Bruce tipped his head just slightly in Gordon's direction, a weary grin spread on his face that lit his sleepless hazel eyes.

 

“Hard to sleep when every move you make feels like someone is tearing a hole into you,” Bruce explained as he took a sip from his mug.

 

“They gave you pain medication. Why don't you use it and get some sleep?” Gordon asked and Alfred snorted and turned his back to the two gentlemen. Gordon glared at the butler's back and then back to Bruce who rolled his eyes in annoyance.

 

“I don't like the side effects. I don't feel in control.” What Bruce didn't mention was that he felt he could deal with the pain himself, Gordon knew, because that was just how Bruce was. Bleed through the pain.

 

“I wish you'd take just one to sleep. You're really not pleasant when you don't get enough sleep,” Gordon teased, giving Bruce another once over of his outfit for the day. Gordon had almost forgotten they had that acrobat show later that afternoon – a show he couldn't say he was looking forward to, but seeing as his kids were coming to stay for a few weeks at the manor and the show was a treat to everyone, he would try to enjoy himself.

 

“Oh? And let you take advantage of me? You've done quite enough of that without me being on pain drugs,” Bruce retorted, a gleam in his eyes as he winked at Gordon. The commissioner narrowed his eyes at Bruce and shook his head in annoyance.

 

“You better watch it, or I'm going to –” Gordon started but Babs walked in with a horrified look on her face, hands to her ears.

 

“Child in the room,” She whined as she walked towards the refrigerator, dropping her hands when it looked safe enough that Gordon and Bruce weren't going to continue.

 

“Good morning to you, too,” Bruce said in a chipper tone. Gordon couldn't help but notice that the way all three of them acted around each other was very much that of an actual family, right down to Babs going straight to the refrigerator. He started to wonder if Bruce would ever actually ask them to move in and then mentally kicked himself for even thinking it; they hadn't even been together for a year, less if he counted the few months they were apart. _Stupid, stupid thoughts to be having, Jim._

 

“When are Jimmy and Susan arriving?” Babs asked as she took out the orange juice and started to pour herself a glass.

 

“Soon,” Bruce said as he glanced at his watch. “Barbara called earlier and asked if she could drop them a little early. Apparently she has a few meetings to attend.”

 

Gordon nodded. It was odd that Barbara talked to Bruce at all after the funeral incident, but Bruce swore they had worked it out, and yet Barbara was now the one avoiding Jim's phone calls, probably feeling awkward herself. Hopefully she came, dropped the kids, and left. Hopefully.

 


	15. Fifteen

The air outside felt almost as still as it had the night Bruce's parents were killed – the slow drizzle of rain that poured down into the gutters and slicked the streets with oily puddles, and how every breath Bruce took tasted like that night. He couldn't really place the feeling, or the shiver that ran down his spine on their arrival at the Gotham Knights Stadium, where The Flying Grayons were performing. A sure sign, as it usually was with his keen sense for trouble, that something was just not quite right. Gordon and the four kids, Babs, Jimmy, Susan and Tim (Jimmy's new friend at school) piled out of the car and stared up at the building in front of them as the photographers gathered around them and began to ask garbled questions that Bruce couldn't hear over the sound of all the other chatter.

 

So he ignored them, tugging on Jim and Susan's hands to pull them through the crowd, looking back to see that Babs was bringing up the rear with Jimmy and Tim. Jim's hand squeezed his anxiously and Bruce didn't have to ask to know that the older man was worried about the newspaper tomorrow, the rumors that would start from them ignoring every reporter in town, Bruce showing up with the Gordon family with Jim's hand tightly in his. But all that seemed trivial right then, and it could be worse.

 

Bruce pushed open the door to the VIP entrance, tickets already in hand, sliding them to the man as he passed, following the rows of dimly lit seats to the bottom of the arena where he allowed the children to choose their seats first, not that it mattered – no one would be sitting in front of them. Jim looked at him with impatient eyes.

 

“These seats are a bit much,” he said to Bruce with gleaming blue eyes that said what he really meant: _these seats will get us noticed._

 

Bruce shook his head and gestured with his hand for Jim to take a seat. “They're perfect, Jim. Relax and enjoy the show.” Bruce sat down next to Gordon, who sighed heavily, rubbing his hands together nervously. Bruce smirked. “The press isn't allowed in here. The Graysons don't allow it.”

 

Jim settled back into his seat, folding his arms over his chest grumpily. Bruce knew the commissioner hadn't wanted to come to the show, that everyone pretty much made him – sad thing was Bruce was starting to get the feeling that maybe they shouldn't have. That bad feeling was creeping up his spine again as he watched the stage hands prepare the rest of the field for the show, each in a brightly colored spandex suit to match the red, green and yellow theme the Graysons were famous for.

 

Bruce paid very close attention to every person working behind the scenes. This “bad feeling” was getting the best of him and he hated to be taken by surprise later by something that he should have been able to catch now. Yet there was nothing unusual, nothing awkward that he could tell. And soon the lights dimmed and the three Graysons appeared, perched up high on their poles, bowing to the audience, receiving their applause with grace as they started the show with a spectacular display of flips and somersaults, and dignified trapeze work that put even Bruce into a state of awe as he began to lose himself in their performance.

 

The show went on, much like one of those Cirque du Soleil shows Bruce had seen once on his travels. The lights were a show of their own as they made the Grayson's appear more fantastic than usual, the loud mystical music that was being pumped through the speakers around them, bringing each person into the show and making them feel each leap and mid air twirl. It was just... beyond graceful.

 

Bruce noticed that the four kids seemed increasingly content to be watching the show, and even looked a tad disheartened when the finale was announced by the stage mistress, a slender blond with a rather slurred New York accent. For this particular trick the Graysons compromised their safety for the “awe factor”. Bruce clenched the arm of his seat nervously. He felt that chill run down his spine again and he tried to shake it off before the stunt started, but it kept creeping slowly up on him again and again, and he finally made himself take a deep breath.  _Nothing will happen, nothing will happen_ ... But yet there was that thought, that inkling that he could never ignore...

 

The mother and father held tight to their bars and both took off from their platforms at the same time. They started through the air gracefully and just as their hands were going to meet, both sets of bars snapped free from their wires, and the two Grayson's began to fall to the ground below.

 

Bruce jumped quickly to his feet and immediately regretted the action as sharp pain ached in his side at the sudden movement. It was all too late; there was nothing Bruce could have done, or Batman for that matter, to save the couple .The two Graysons fell in a twisted mess on the ground, their legs sprawled in separate directions. Jim was hastily calling 9-1-1 as he led the kids out of the stadium, giving Bruce one of those “don't go anywhere” faces.

 

The Grayson kid, who looked to be maybe fifteen or sixteen, stood staring down at his parents' lifeless bodies and Bruce just stared at the child and was reminded for the second time that day of his parents and the night they died. An omen, maybe? Something telling Bruce that there was a destined path here, in this stadium – something he had to do? Maybe the boy was the key to something, a piece of some puzzle, or maybe Bruce would be the piece to the boy's puzzle?

 

Perplexed at the thought, Bruce shook his head. He began to move towards the ladder leading the platform the boy stood on, ignoring the pain that was searing into his chest, the feel of the stitches pulling in his side, as he climbed up the ladder to the young man who stood motionless just above him. He reached the top and the kid had yet to notice that anyone was even near him, lost in his own world, just hoping it was a dream. Bruce knew the feeling well – it was one he had felt over twenty years ago, one he never thought he would feel again, and yet here he was feeling the same pain radiate off this young man. Bruce stood next to the kid and looked down at what he saw below him: two sprawled bodies, necks broken, legs possibly broken, and certainly dead. There was no doubt when the paramedics had run up that the couple was already dead – an immediate death on contact with the ground.

 

Bruce placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. “Why don't you come down?” Bruce kept his tone even, soft, and tried not to alarm the kid.

 

“Not yet,” the boy whispered. Bruce felt it in the pit of his stomach, the anguish erupting from the core of the boy's voice.

 

“No matter how much you stare, it won't change anything,” Bruce replied, trying to turn the boy around so he could lead him down the ladder, or at least convince him to look him in the eye.

 

“And how would you know?” the young man asked as he turned to face Bruce, a set of deep blue eyes piercing into Bruce's soul like daggers, weakening a little as the kid recognized Bruce.

 

“I know,” Bruce stated, and it was then that the boy dropped his head, and looked as though maybe he would cry, but his eyes came back up to meet Bruce's squarely, and there was a neager determination in them to keep from showing his weakness. “Why don't you come down.” Not a question, more of a suggestion and the kid nodded slowly, allowing Bruce to head down first and following after him.

 

Bruce dropped his last foot to the ground and he felt a pair of hands on him; he looked down to see Jim there, helping him. James Gordon, the man who had helped him the night his parents were killed, and now Bruce was that man for another kid whose parents had met an untimely accident.

 

“Thanks,” Bruce said quietly, and then Jim reached up to help the young man down as well, Bruce standing at his other side. “Your name is Richard, isn't it?” he asked as he and Jim ushered the kid away from the scene.

 

“Yes,” Richard said. Bruce stared at Jim, who was already staring back at Bruce. Gerard Stephens was the first of the emergency response team of detectives to show up. He approached them and sighed knowingly, shaking his head.

 

Bruce sat Richard down on one of the seats near the performing area, but far enough away that he wouldn't be bothered and wouldn't see anything. His head was dropped low, eyes distant again, so far away. Bruce pulled Jim aside for a second and looked him squarely in the eye.

 

“He's going to need somewhere to stay.”

 

Jim started to shake his head. “No. Bruce, they'll find him a good foster home and some help. Maybe he has some family. You do not need a teenager running around Wayne Manor.”

 

Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him. “Just like you didn't need a teenager running around your apartment?”

 

“That's different! Babs is family, one way or another she'd be left to me.” Gordon sighed and slumped his shoulders, glancing at his shoes for a moment. “Bruce...”

 

Bruce took a hold of Gordon's shoulders. “I'm not talking forever, Jim. Just until the courts sort things out. He's vulnerable right now, scared. He could use someone to talk to, a few comforting words...”

 

“And you're going to give him those?” Gordon questioned as he looked back up, eyes locking with Bruce's to see the need there, the desire to help someone in a way he didn't usually.

 

“I think it would be better coming from someone who has gone through something similar,” Bruce stated as he let go of Gordon's shoulder, sighing. “It's not easy.”

 

“No. No it's not. I'll see what I can do.”

 

\------

 

Bruce wasn't even surprised when Jim somehow managed to convince the social worker assigned to young Richard Grayson to let the kid stay at Wayne Manor instead of being cooped up at the police station all night. Of course there was the promise that Jim to bring Richard back in the morning for meetings and questioning by the detectives at the station. Apparently, after some time at the scene of the “accident”, Stephens and newly-hired Renee Montoya had found evidence of tampering with the wires and ropes connected to the bars of the trapeze. They were now looking at a possible murder, and it made Bruce feel even more inclined to take the young teen under his wing. Of course Jim had some worries about that, too.

 

“Look, it's one thing to have Babs look up to you. But when you bring some teenage boy into the equation it makes things a little more difficult. You can't be to this kid what Alfred was to you, Bruce. You're hardly qualified to be a parent, you have insane nightly activities that would keep you from helping him with his homework, and your reputation for being a blatant, playboy asshole doesn't help matters much either. The social worker is never going to allow Richard to live here, let alone as your foster child,” Jim explained. He had his hands on his hips, bringing one up every now and then to emphasize his point, glaring at Bruce mindfully through the lenses of his glasses. Bruce stood with his arms crossed over his chest, standing his ground and returning the commissioner's intense glare.

 

“Things would have to change a little, but I could do it,” Bruce said simply, his voice a lot softer than he had intended it to be; he couldn't seem to find the means to be angry with Jim, who was just voicing his concerns.

 

Jim shook his head again, bits of hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. “Bruce... you have no idea what being a parent is like. It's not going to be rainbows and sunshine everyday. A teenage boy is going to cause you so much grief.”

 

Bruce smirked; he knew all about being a teenage boy and causing grief. Alfred never let him live down the fact that Bruce was the devil's child from the age of twelve to about seventeen, when he finally left for college. Bruce knew that, he had never made anything easy for Alfred, and a lot of that was due to still being depressed and confused over his parents' death. Looking back, he'd do it differently if he could, and maybe that was one reason he wanted to help Richard Grayson.

 

And yet for once he didn't know what to say to Jim, how to explain that he could do this, that this was something he needed – that Richard would need. He didn't want to be a father, he just wanted to be the guiding hand for someone like Alfred was for him; to know what it's like on the other side for once instead of the one being felt sorry for. He held Jim's gaze a bit longer, a little annoyed that the older man didn't believe Bruce could make the appropriate changes. It wouldn't be hard. In fact, Bruce had been thinking about his cover-up for quite a while, and even though it worked very well, he really felt it was time to at least change it up a little bit. Maybe even convince Jim to finally let their relationship be known and stop hiding that too.

 

Oh, but the relationship might just hinder him getting guardianship of Richard, as well. The policy in Gotham on same sex couples was lenient, but a man who would most likely come off as gay – though Bruce hardly considered himself this, thinking of himself merelyas a man who found another man whose soul mate happened to be a man – would never be allowed custody of a teenage boy. Frustrating was the first word to come to mind when he thought about it.

 

Most of all, he felt let down. He had thought that maybe Jim, of all people, would understand where Bruce was coming from and trust that he could do this. Bruce had thought that Jim had more faith in him. Bruce sighed heavily as he let his gaze fall away from the older man's. With or without Jim Gordon's help, Bruce would get custody of Richard Grayson.

 

“I think you underestimate what I'm capable of doing,” Bruce said as he walked out of the room. He wanted Jim to know that he was done with the conversation, that one way or another he would get his way. And, knowing Jim, he would either start to feel bad and trail after him to apologize, or he would gather up Babs, Jimmy and Susan and head back to his place and let Bruce stew on it a while; Bruce would be forced to apologize first and admit to Jim that he was right and the billionaire was wrong. Except Bruce wasn't going to crack this time.

 

He heard the soft footsteps of worn shoes behind him. “Bruce, please stop.” Bruce placed his hands in his pockets as he turned around slowly to meet Jim's gaze once more. Jim's lips were slightly parted and his eyes unfocused, as if he was trying to find the words. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him to continue.

 

“You really want to do this? He's a teenage boy. They have hormones and attitudes and...” Jim trailed off again nodding his head a bit as he tried to find a better description. “... he's a teenage boy,” he repeated in a tone that suggested he was really worried about that part the most.

 

“So you've said. Anything else you'd care to inform me of that I didn't know?” Bruce asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He watched as Jim squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ground himself against Bruce's teasing.

 

“I don't think you're taking this seriously enough,” Jim explained. Bruce couldn't help but scoff at him.

 

“I take everything seriously,” Bruce said through a frown. He took another deep breath. “Look, Jim. I know that you're worried about Babs and the 'influence' I've inadvertently had on her, but do you really think that would be my intention for Richard? I've told you before, I don't wish the life I have on anyone.”

 

“You don't, but unfortunately for Richard his life is about to become the same as yours. Bruce his parents just died right in front of him. Someone murdered them. Remember how you felt that night? He's not going to be same.”

 

Bruce considered this carefully, Jim was right after all – Richard was just like Bruce now, and there was no changing that. But maybe if Bruce intervened, the teen wouldn't end up taking the path Bruce did.

 

“And that's why I need to do this,” Bruce said sincerely, and this time Jim nodded slowly, a renewed sense of understanding in his eyes. Bruce could feel the tension that had been thick in air between them fade, and slowly things settled around them.

 

“It's going to take some work, a lot of convincing and a hell of a donation to the social services office.” Jim smiled at him, half kidding of course, but Bruce could tell that a lot of that was true; it was going to take a lot of work to become Richard's legal guardian.

 

“Anything worth having takes a little effort.”

 


	16. Sixteen

Jim Gordon knew he should have never been amazed by the things that Bruce Wayne was able to accomplish; be it convincing someone to do something for him or buying off another person with an unreasonable amount of money. In this case, it was the later. Bruce took Richard Grayson to the Social Services himself that morning and convinced the social worker to let Bruce have guardianship over the teen. Now, from what Bruce said, there was some heated arguing over the situation, but when it was said that the boy had no family at all, Bruce pulled his own story on the woman. Gordon imagined that the woman took to Bruce's “sob story” just as quickly as anyone did, even felt bad for him and probably considered that the way Bruce turned out was due to it.

 

“So, you just told her how your parents died and she just handed Richard over to you?” Gordon asked Bruce. Gordon was sitting at his office desk, having come back early from vacation – despite the pleas of his kids and Babs – to help with the investigation of the Mister and Misses Grayson. Bruce sat on the edge of the desk tinkering with the pens in the holder sitting there.

 

“Well, it was a helpful factor in her decision. But I also had to convince her that I was trying to reform myself, that my days of boozing and sexing up young women was coming to a dead end,” Bruce replied with a smart smirk on his face. Gordon shook his head, _only Bruce_.

 

“And she believed that?” Gordon was a little skeptical; most women would believe it instantly, but Gordon knew Paige Williams and she was not an easy woman to crack.

 

“Well...” Bruce started, his eyes gazing at him a with some unease, biting at the inside of his lower lip. “I may have had to set up a date with her. But she asked me. I had no intentions of even going that far!”

 

Except, Gordon wasn't surprised by this in the least, and what did he expect? There was a pang of jealousy hitting deep in his chest, but with the sincere apology written on Bruce's face, he knew it was really the last thing Bruce even wanted to do. Gordon let out a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair, hands on the arms of it.

 

“I'm not attached to anyone in the media right now. Turning her down would seem really suspicious. And in turning her down she would assume that I had lied about not dating pretty young things anymore.” Bruce made a face at this, and Gordon already knew why; Paige Williams was far from the super model, or even your “girl next door” for that matter. In fact, sometimes Gordon had a hard time remembering she was even a woman at all. Paige had some pretty hard, masculine lines about her, pretty fit with some muscle bulk – Gordon was sure she could break him in half without even trying.

 

“Well, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, Bruce,” Gordon said unsympathetically, nodding his head in a slight approval. Bruce glared at him.

 

“You're going to allow me to go out with her? You aren't going to throw a raging jealous fit and tell me I'm not allowed to?” Bruce whined. Gordon could see in the billionaire's eyes that he was being quite serious.

 

Gordon liked to see Bruce squirm for once, looking all uncomfortable and sitting there fidgeting. Gordon tried to imagine Bruce sitting to have dinner with Paige, trying to keep a conversation while trying desperately trying to get out of it. Gordon had to admit, Bruce being unsure and possibly even scared turned him on a bit. Maybe this could work to his situation.

 

“You should go. You wouldn't want to think that you lied about reforming yourself.” Gordon tried to hide the grin that was forming on his lips, watching Bruce's face drop in surprise. “I trust you. I'm sure one date is not going to kill you.” But the look in Bruce's eyes suggested otherwise. “How much money did you write a check for?”

 

Bruce looked startled at the sudden change in conversation. “Five-hundred thousand. It was a little much, but I figured over giving couldn't hurt. How did you –”

 

Gordon cut him off. “You never bargain as Bruce Wayne without money at your side. It's your own personal sidekick. So, this date has nothing to do with Richard?”

 

“No. She already signed off the paperwork for me and then asked. I just said yes to be nice. Jim, really, if you don't want me to go, I won't,” Bruce was begging now, eyes pleading silently with Gordon to just say the word and Bruce wouldn't go. That would be letting him off the hook easy.

 

“Nonsense. You should go. You owe it to her for even believing you.” Gordon smiled sincerely, his lips widening as he saw the lack of enthusiasm on Bruce's face, a darkness start to cover the younger man's eyes; this too was quite alluring to Gordon.

 

Bruce sighed as he slid off the desk. “If something happens, Commissioner, you have no one but yourself to blame.” Gordon wasn't sure if it was a threat or not, or if Bruce would purposefully try something so that Gordon felt terrible for it later. Bruce started to leave without saying another word to Gordon, but the older man caught him by the hand and pulled him gently to him, still careful about Bruce's stitches.

 

Bruce allowed himself to be tugged over to Gordon's chair, looking at the older man, unimpressed. Gordon stood from his chair, pushing Bruce against the door as he did, their bodies fitting tightly together. He leaned in and kissed Bruce's roughly on the lips, letting his tongue initiate the first move into the other man's mouth. Bruce was hastily returning the kiss, arms around Gordon tightly, a muffled groan escaping his mouth. Gordon pulled back first, gazing at Bruce over the rim of his glasses.

 

“I trust you, Bruce. I know you'll come back to me tonight. I know I'll be the one you confide in later. And I know that you will come back at the end of the date and tell me how horrible it was and just how much you appreciate me.”

 

Bruce parted his lips in a small smile, his eyes gentle again. “Is that how that will go?”

 

“Unless you had something else in mind?” Gordon asked letting his lips touch Bruce's with each word. Gordon heard Bruce's breath hitch in his throat and a small hissing noise from his mouth.

 

“I guess you'll find out won't you?” Bruce said as he slipped out from under Gordon, quickly open the door, leaving. Gordon rolled his eyes at the suddenness of Bruce's departure, but he figured if they had continued on, it would lead to something they vowed not to do in commissioner's office anymore; almost getting caught once was enough.

 

\------

 

 

Bruce had not expected Jim to be okay with him going to out on a date with another woman, not after the fiasco with Selina Kyle. But Paige Williams was quite different from Selina and maybe Jim didn't really feel he had a lot to worry about. Which was also true – there was nothing to worry about. Bruce had his heart set in one spot and that was with Jim Gordon. But it all still didn't make Bruce feel any better about going on this date with a woman he barely knew and couldn't even begin to fathom what she saw in him, unless it was just to see if he was lying to her or not.

 

He'd have to keep his guard up tonight.

 

Bruce walked into fourth guest room upstairs of Wayne Manor, the door had been slightly opened. Richard was running through a gymnastics routine across the room, having moved all the furniture to one side. Bruce wasn't angry about it, Alfred would be later when he couldn't move everything back again by himself.

 

Richard stopped mid somersault when he noticed Bruce, staring up at the billionaire with his dark blue eyes, but said nothing. Bruce stood just in the doorway, hand in his hands, nodding his head at the furniture, and Richard looked around a bit ashamed.

 

“I'll put it back,” he said quickly.

 

“Don't worry about it right now. We just won't tell Alfred,” Bruce teased, seeing if the teen was at all ready for any sort of humor, it had been less than a day still since event, so Bruce wasn't expecting much. Richard let a tight smile show through, but Bruce could tell it was forced. “Commissioner Gordon says that Lt. Stephens and Detective Montoya are going to be coming by a little later to talk to you. I wanted to warn you, so that you weren't caught off guard when they arrived.”

 

Richard only nodded. Bruce could practically feel the pain radiate off the young man, how he was trying to hard to hide it all inside – to not care or even think about it. This was much different than with Babs', whose parents didn't die in front of her and from what she told Bruce, she never liked her father anyway. Richard Grayson loved both his parents and had rarely been separated from them for more than a couple hours for school work.

 

“Richard, if you want to talk, I'm here,” Bruce said quietly as he turned to leave out the door. He didn't want to push the boy into talking when he was obviously not ready for it.

 

“Dick,” the teen said softly. Bruce turned around a bit confused.

 

“Excuse me?” Bruce asked as he raised one eye brow at the teen.

 

Richard let a very small smile form on his lips. “I like to be called Dick.”

 

Bruce nodded and let one of his big, genuine smiles show through. “Alright, Dick.” Bruce went to leave again and the teen spoke up this time, a little louder.

 

“Mister Wayne? Why are you wanting to help me?”

 

Bruce walked into the room and took a seat on the floor next to Dick, this wouldn't be like when he talked to Babs the first time, this was a boy. “Bruce. You can call me Bruce. And I know what it's like, to lose your parents, to see them die right in front of you. I thought if you needed anyone during this time, it would be someone who actually understands and not someone who claims to understand.”

 

Dick tipped his head to the side thoughtfully, but didn't make eye contact, considering the words. Bruce didn't expect any words from the young man, and none were given, just a simple nod of the head. Bruce patted Dick on the shoulder, and stood.

 

“If you need anything, feel free to ask Alfred or myself. I'll be be in my office taking a call for about an hour, but other than that I'm here until this evening,” Bruce said as he rounded the door, looking back for a moment. “Alfred's making lunch, if you're hungry.”

 

\------

 

Gordon sat on the window sill of Gerry's office at Major Crimes Unit building. It was what had once been Gordon's office, but he had finally given into the Major taken an officer down at City Hall, because having the meeting were easier that way, and any time Gordon wanted to be MCU, he could just use Gerry's office anyway. Gerry sat at his desk piling the paperwork into a folder for Gordon and setting it down on the side of the desk.

 

“It's all there. Pictures taken of the murder scene last night, the reports written up by Montoya and myself, and pictures of the investigation of the trapeze. We even talked to a few stage hands, but none of them said they saw anything unusual. However, about three days ago a new crew member was hired on and they had been teaching her the safety standards and she had been helping out with that last night,” Gerry explained., pushing back into his chair with heavy sigh.

 

“What did she have to say?” Gordon asked as he slid off the window sill, making his way over to the desk. He picked up the folder and began to thumb through it.

 

“Well, we couldn't find her. No one could find her.” Gerry looked a little ashamed, like he had let down Gordon in the worst way. But, honestly if the woman goes missing, how could Gordon blame them for not finding her?

 

“What about a name?”

 

Gerry shrugged. “Assumed fake. Glinda Franks. No records of anyone by that name. The show manager wasn't too crazy on checking social security numbers or backgrounds.”

 

 

Gordon looked at him pointedly. “Description?”

 

“The manager and a few of the staff gave us some good details on her, we had the sketch artist draw something up. Pretty plain, but should prove useful if we ever come across her. Blond, blue eyed, slender. Nothing about her to set her apart from anyone else though.” Gerry placed his elbows on the desk, running his hand through his hair. Gordon could tell the case was getting to him.

 

Two murder cases in less than a month, one with no clues to who the killer was. Gordon briefly considered Elliot behind the Grayson murder, but what connection would there be? None. Neither Bruce nor Gordon had anything do with with Grayson's besides showing up to their show. Definitely not likely.

 

Gordon looked down in the file of the sketch of the woman and something about the way her eyes were made him think he'd seen her before, but that was silly – it was just a sketch. “You have copies of these?” Gordon gestured to the folder in his hands and Gerry nodded slowly. “Alright. I'm going to take these over to Bruce then.”

 

Gerry raised his head. “Oh? No rooftop meeting tonight?”

 

“No. He's busy this evening and this might be the only chance I get to get him filled in. Thanks for this. Call me if you and Detective Montoya come up with anything else,” Gordon said as he took the few steps to the door.

 

“Jim? You didn't have to come back from vacation early for this. We would have handled it.” Gerry was leaned back into his chair again, sentimentally glaring at him with one of those worried smiles.

 

Gordon shook his head and walked out. There was really no trying to explain to anyone why Jim Gordon hated taking vacations. It wasn't that he didn't like to spend time with his children, it was the fact that he didn't feel in control. Without Gotham in his hands and under his protection, he felt he was letting her down somehow, that no one but he and Bruce could ever really protect her from the things that threatened to destroy her. Had he told Gerry this, the man would have taken it all wrong and assumed Gordon thought the other man couldn't do the job as well as the commissioner could – that just wasn't true. Gordon had all the faith in Gerard Stephens and the well trained and hand picked men and women on the MCU staff, it was the criminals that Gordon didn't trust. Every day the criminals of Gotham reminded him of just how much he loved the city; so much he could bare to be away longer than was needed.

 

\-----

 

“Jim!” Someone called from behind Gordon as he was leaving his office. He had stopped by City Hall to pick up some other paperwork to go over with Bruce that evening when Bruce returned from his date and before his midnight patrol. Gordon turned around to see his secretary trailing after him towards the elevator. She caught up to him and handed him an envelope.

 

“Sorry, meant to give this to you before you left, but you were in and out so fast,” she said as she tried to catch her breath. Gordon took and read the outside, it was the from the genetics lab.

 

“Thank you, Cindi.” He said and continued to the elevator. He pushed the button for the ground floor and stared at the envelope, almost afraid to open it. If Babs was his daughter, did he want to know? Would it change anything? One way or another he had guardianship of her, but knowing for sure would set his mind at ease. He bit down on his lower lip and stuffed the envelope into his suit jacket pocket. He'd wait until he was with Bruce; he wanted some sort of support one way or another.

 

He reached the bottom floor and walked out towards the parking garage. He had to pick up Babs and head over to the Manor. IT was later than he thought and by the time they got there Bruce would be on his “date”, possibly trying to make small talk conversation with a woman he had to impress. Gordon imagined Bruce would come back quite frustrated and over all appalled by the situation. Gordon was hoping for more of the frustrated, he found he liked that look at Bruce, especially the uneasiness that came before it. Bruce being unsure of something when he was often so sure of everything showed he had some insecurities and wasn't all debonair and suaveness.

 

It was different change of pace and Gordon kind of liked it, even if it wouldn't last for long.

 


	17. Seventeen

Bruce didn't allow Jim any warning when he stormed into the study of Wayne Manor where the older man was seated on the sofa looking over a a rather thick file. Bruce slams the double doors closed behind him, and in a few panther like strides is in front of Jim, picking the man up by the collar and kissing him ravishingly. Bruce pushed Jim into the wall behind the sofa, dropping one hand down to the commissioner's hip, roughly pulling the shirt from his slacks. Bruce could feel the a muffled groan from Jim which only made him persist to kiss him harder, dragging his tongue across the older man's lips until Jim finally gave in let Bruce have his way.

 

Bruce let his fingers glide underneath the Jim's shirt, touching the soft skin, and slightly lean muscles that lead to the commissioner's ribcage. Bruce had his hand in the other man's hair, tugging gently, pulling his mouth closer to his. He heard Jim muffle something about being careful of Bruce's injuries, but that just made Bruce want pull a little harder. He heard Jim groan deep in his throat, and Bruce pulled back for the briefest of moments, gazing at a half-startled, half lust ridden man who looked over all too frazzled to know what hit him. Bruce liked when he had full advantage of Jim like this, it made everything easier, less complicated, and less challenging.

 

Bending his head to the side of Jim's neck, Bruce licked the outline of the man's ear, feeling the violent shudder that rolled through his body on a whim. Bruce wrapped one arm around the commissioner's waist and used his free hand to unbutton Jim's shirt, trailing his tongue down the side of the other man's neck, biting softly at the nape of his neck. Bruce trailed behind his hand with kisses, feeling out the skin on Jim's chest with his tongue, trying to memorize each and every little curve, the way each spot tasted and all the little noises that escaped Jim's mouth as Bruce persisted.

 

“What has come over you?” Jim breathed, his long fingered hands were tangled up in Bruce's hair as the younger man slid Jim's shirt off his shoulders, letting it hang loosely on his arms. Bruce let his mouth linger over the front of Jim's pants, breathing heavily on the bulge that was now at his eye level, watching it twitch a little.

 

Bruce didn't answer Jim, he felt there was no need for that. Instead, Bruce began to tug at the belt around Jim's waist with his teeth, loosening it with some efficiency, and when he had successfully taken it off, Bruce went for the button on Jim's pants, rubbing one hand up the older man's thigh while his other was securely placed on Jim's ass. Bruce managed the button undone and then very slowly, eyes now gleaming up at Jim's half-opened ones, slid the zipper of the man's slacks down with his teeth, watching as Jim bit into his bottom lip, hand gripping at Bruce's hair a little tighter.

 

“Jesus,” Jim groaned in an almost whisper that sends a shrill spark into Bruce's own groin. Bruce let go of his hold of Jim and let the slacks fall down around Jim's ankles. He looked at Jim's well worn boxers and the penis that was now sticking abruptly out of them. Bruce slid his fingers into the top waistband of the boxers and pulled them down as well and quickly wrapped his mouth around the head of Jim's penis. Jim groaned louder this time, his body finally relaxing against the wall behind him, allowing Bruce more access.

 

Bruce smiled inwardly as he finally had the good commissioner where he wanted him. Bruce placed one hand on the inside of Jim's thigh and the other around the shaft of his penis, slowly stroking him as he licked around the head of Jim's penis. Bruce pushed Jim's leg out a with his hand, pulling back and dropping his lips down to the older man's testicles, teasingly licking at them and waiting for the response. Jim jolted and moaned out a curse word that Bruce couldn't quite hear. The younger man nuzzled his nose into the side of Jim's testicles as Bruce lifted the other man's penis and sucked on the underside, dragging his tongue across, pushing Jim's legs apart a little more.

 

Bruce cupped the commissioner's balls into his hand, rolling them gently in his palm, trailing his tongue back to the head of Jim's penis, nipping at the sensitive skin gently with his teeth, feeling the older man shake beneath him. Bruce wrapped his tongue around Jim's penis against, sucking harshly now, head bobbing up and down on Jim's shaft, while squeezing his testicles with just the amount of pressure he knew Jim could take.

 

There was a lost moment for Bruce when Jim gargled out his name, hearing the loud thump of the man head hit the wall as he let go of his release into Bruce's mouth. Bruce didn't mind, taking the taste of his lover, of Jim, every last bit of it, down his throat. It burned, it always burned, but he'd always take it for Jim.

 

Bruce stood and watched as Jim tried to recompose himself, pulling his pants and boxers up over himself, fastening them loosely. He glared at Bruce with those dim blue eyes that sparkled even more after sex. Jim looked like he wanted to speak but had lost his voice completely. Bruce loved that – loved that he could strip Jim down to nothing. Bruce leaned in so that they were chest to chest; Jim stilled half naked and Bruce stilled completely clothed in a nice suit, now just slightly rumpled.

 

“I would have thrown you over the edge of the couch and fucked you, but I don't think these stitches could have handled that,” Bruce whispered in a deep rasp, nose-to-nose with Jim now. He saw Jim swallow and felt the wilting erection the older man _had_ start to rise again. Bruce pushed his hips into the Jim's, his own hard-on begging for a release that he knew Jim could make up to him later.

 

Jim coughed, his eyes trying to focus on Bruce's, but obviously distracted. “How was your 'date' with Miss Williams?”

 

“Oh, the usual with any girl I end up having to pretend to be enjoying myself with.” His eyes narrowed in on Jim's, their lips just breaths apart. “How do you think it went?” Even Bruce could smell the sent of that woman's perfume on him still, she had practically thrown herself at him and Bruce had been forced to tell her the truth that he knew Jim wouldn't be happy about.

 

“Oh? That bad?” Jim muttered as he licked his lips, catching a bit of Bruce's as he did. Bruce felt himself growing impatient, but he knew Jim had other things to go over with him and then he needed to go patrol for the evening. Bruce tried to center himself.

 

“Worse. Do we have to talk about it right now?” Bruce asked, brushing his lips against Jim's, an attempt to not only calm the older man but to get his need for closeness while he still could.

 

Jim flinched and attempted to push Bruce off. “What did you do?” But Bruce wouldn't budge, he had an arm on each side of the wall next to Jim's head, breathing against the commissioners mouth, who wasn't have any of it anymore.

 

“Jim, please can we talk about this later?” Bruce was practically begging as he kissed the side Jim's mouth and watched a piece of Jim broke away and almost caved in, looking like he was going to come unglued. Bruce knew Jim was a bit worried, he could feel the fear in Jim through the race of his heartbeat, feeling the pounding through his chest. Bruce shook his head slowly and kissed Jim again, long and rough. Maybe they could get around to the paperwork later; maybe Gotham didn't need Batman this early anyway. Maybe. Jim returned the kiss eagerly, pulling Bruce in a little deeper.

 

\------

 

Gordon stood leaned up against the big computer desk down in Batcave. It was the first time Bruce had ever let him down there, let alone told him it even existed; Gordon just assumed Bruce had something like this to keep everything. Gordon had his arms crossed over his chest, kicking the toe of his shoe at some gravel on the ground. Bruce was changing into the suit and Alfred was handing him each piece of armor. And odd little ritual that Gordon just as soon not take from Alfred anytime soon, the man seemed to like his moment with Bruce when he could get them these days.

 

“And where shall I tell Master Grayson you've gone, sir?” Alfred asked as he fixed the last piece of armor around Bruce's left calf. Gordon couldn't believe Bruce was even going out on patrol, not with his injuries still being as new as they were. Alfred was a bit wary on the situation as well, but Bruce had promised to be careful. Not that it would have mattered what Gordon or Alfred said, Bruce would go out either way.

 

“Charity Auction,” Bruce said gruffly as he pulled the cowl over his head. Alfred simply stared at him and even though there wasn't a lot of emotion to be seen on the older gentleman's face, Gordon knew he was not too impressed with Bruce at the moment.

 

“Might I suggest, Master Wayne, that if you plan to be in the boys life, that you actually find sometime to be at home?” Alfred explained in a rather monotone voice, keeping any real emotion from his voice, to suggest he didn't think what Bruce was doing all together wrong, but maybe he could do better.

 

Gordon waited for some sort of quick come back from Bruce, a witty remark or even scoff – anything. Instead Bruce nodded his head in acceptance. “I'm planning on being home all day tomorrow. See if he's up to seeing Gotham and getting his mind off everything else.”

 

“Very good, sir,” Alfred said under his breath, tossing Gordon one of those annoyed looks, knowing full well Bruce had more than enough on his plate and he would 'believe it when he sees it'. Gordon let out a soft sigh, watching as Alfred headed back up in elevator. Bruce, well Batman Gordon supposed, was clasping the cape on, and Gordon walked over to help him.

 

“He is right you know,” Gordon said, tugging on the clasps to assure they were secure. “Dick's going to need a lot of your attention.” Bruce gave Gordon a sideways glance that suggested he didn't need to hear it from Gordon, too. The older man shrugged. “Just saying.”

 

“Stephens and Montoya came by earlier today to talk to Dick. Gerry mentioned something about a woman who's gone missing since the incident yesterday?” Bruce questioned, pulling the his gloves over his hands.

 

Gordon nodded slightly. “Yeah. Dropped completely off the radar. It's all in the file I left on your desk.” He pointed to the computer desk, the tan folder laying there. “A bit of sketch in it, but nothing unusual about her. She isn't really a suspect yet, but we'd like to get her in for questioning at least.”

 

“I'll look into it tonight.” Bruce grabbed Gordon's hand and pulled the older man to him. “By the way, next time I mention that I'm forced into going on a date with a woman, you'd better be telling me I can't go.”

 

Gordon laughed at the awkward change in subject, and at the fact that Bruce apparently had a terrible time. “She couldn't have been that bad.”

 

“No,” Bruce said softly as he pressed his lips lightly against Gordon with each word. “But she wasn't you.”

 

Gordon breathed in sharply, the memory what they did not more than an hour ago still fresh in his mind as Bruce captured Gordon's lips with his own. The date, he figured, must have gone very badly, as Bruce was more than a little frustrated with Gordon; Bruce liked to take that out on him in the best ways possible.

 

“If this is how you get after bad dates with women, I think I could live with that,” Gordon teased, pushing Bruce away to breath.

 

Bruce growled and tried to get closer to him again, but Gordon kept him at bay. Bruce narrowed his dark eyes. “You'd get jealous.”

 

“You wouldn't do anything with them,” Gordon said, feeling another around of sarcastic banter rising between them, but kind that left them both wanting to jump the other.

 

“Wouldn't I?” Bruce retorted, pushing Jim against a near by table, gloved hand reaching down between them to cop a feel on Gordon's groin. Gordon gritted his teeth, trying to not succumb to Bruce's advances, again. “Maybe I'd do it just to make you jealous. Maybe I'd let you watch.”

 

Gordon's hand went to directly to his handcuffs, and he saw Bruce's eyes drift to the shiny metal. “Those are grounds for serious punishment. Jail time, even,” Gordon said as seriously as he could manage. He watched as Bruce's pupils dilated into big round saucers, his grip on Gordon's groin stiffening.

 

“Looks like I may have to go get my little black book,” Bruce said in a low growl, hoisting Jim up onto the table, legs spread open in front of him.

 

“How about we just skip the women?” Gordon suggested provocatively, tossing the hand cuffs onto the table next to him. “I'm sure I can arrest you on grounds of something else without some broad getting in the mix.”

 

Bruce flexed his gloved fingers, glancing down at tented fabric of Gordon's pants and then back to the older man's eyes that were now mirroring the same lust. Unfortunately, he had to go patrol, he hadn't been out in over a week. Gordon picked up the cuffs and slid them back into his pocket, giving Bruce a knowing glance.

 

“Stay out of trouble tonight and we'll see about making this a reality.”

 

\------

 

Bruce went back to the Gotham Knights Stadium, to the scene where Richard Grayson's parents died just one day ago. Bruce, as he looked at the chalk outlines on the blood stained ground, felt fragments of his own parents' death run through his mind. The memory was a distant blur, a faded bit of remorse in his stomach, but the loss was always there. He wished, sourly and bitterly, that he had been able to save Dick' parents. He almost blamed himself for the whole thing; if he had been in better condition, if he hadn't gotten shot, if he hadn't gone with Gordon to Chicago... too many if's.

 

The lights were off and Bruce had to use his night-vision goggles to see. He checked the poles, the wires, the ground, every where could for some clue as to how or who did it. He was crouched down by one of the safety-net poles when he heard the rustling of shoes behind him. He stood quickly, guarded his stance, arms up with the blades facing out.

 

“Oh, goodie! I was hoping the Batman would show up!” a woman said as she stepped in front of him, the lights just above them flickering on. “I was beginning to think that my handy work was going to go unnoticed by the great detective himself.” She talked in an annoying accent, one that Bruce couldn't quite place, a bit of a mixture between New York and Boston, neither of which were annoying on their own, but had a drawl to it.

 

Bruce didn't say anything, he had to know how this was, to figure out who it was he was dealing with. She stepped directly under the light and he saw her for the first time and knew exactly who she was. Harleen Quinzel, Doctor of Psychiatry at Arkham Asylum for quite a few years before her episode with the Joker over a year ago. Someone made the mistake of leaving her in charge of “curing him”. Too bad the Joker ended up be the one to rub off on her instead of her on him.

 

Harleen was dressed in a suit styled much the same the Joker's had been; slightly resembling a zoot suit, but tailored down for her curves. The pants were black, the her collared shirt red, and the jacket was black, long and tailored as well. The suspenders helping to hold her pants up were black with red diamonds on them. She looked as dingy as the Joker had the last time Bruce threw them both back into Arkham last October. This must have been the patient that was released on the good behavior.

 

Finally, Bruce found his voice. “Doctor Quinzel,” he growled.

 

She brought a hand up, a revolver in it, pointed straight at him. “Actually, it's Harley, now. Harley Quinn.” She stepped a few spaced towards him and Bruce was strategically thinking of ways to take her down. He did this a lot, it shouldn't be that hard, but with two still fairy new wounds, he was finding that his movement was not as quick as it should be.

 

“Why?” Bruce asked simply and he watched as the woman giggled a little to herself, shrugging.

 

“I'm just here to finish a job,” Harley said. She cocked the hammer back on the gun and pulled the trigger.

 


	18. Eighteen

Bruce – no Batman – had only that split second to react, to somehow calculate where bullet was going to hit, and from the aim of Harleen's gun, it was obvious that it was going to make contact with his chest. Thank God for the Kevlar plates and there not being a lot of space between them. The bullet smashed into the left breast plate, knocking Bruce to the ground with the force. He looked down and saw the bullet wedged into the armor and gave an inner sigh of relief. He fingered the arm blades with the trigger inside his gloves, two of them embedding into the woman's shoulder and others flying right past her, and she dropped to the ground, grasping her shoulder.

 

Bruce used what strength he had left and ran at her, knocking the gun from her hand foot and taking her the rest of the way to ground. She was glaring up at him, black grease paint around her eyes, a familiar make-up job that reminded him all too much of the Joker. It was possible she was still working for him, but the Joker would never send her to kill Batman, the Joker liked the chase and the game that they played. That left only possible person who Harleen would be working for and it was the one person who he was dearly looking forward to seeing face-to-face again, if even to prove that he couldn't be brought down by the hands of a gun.

 

Bruce took her by the wrist pulled her up towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. He narrowed his eyes on her and he began to see a fear in her face, a common reaction with most criminals. She began to tremble a bit, and Bruce, for just a split second, began to feel bad for her. But she was expecting that from him, so he hardened himself and looked past her quivering shoulders and watering eyes.

 

“Where is he?” Bruce growled, grabbing her other wrist with his other hand. Harleen shook her head, blue eyes wide in a fear that Bruce almost loved seeing on her face.

 

“Why don't you put the girl down?” came a gruff, suave voice from Bruce's left, a broad shouldered figured emerging from the shadows. Bruce had grown quite angry in the two minutes he had been holding Harleen in his grips, knowing full well it was Tommy Elliot who had put her up to this. And then, there he was in front of Bruce; without mask or disguise, just a hand gun in hand, but pointed to the floor. Bruce pushed Harleen to the side, hearing a light thump as she hit the ground. She got up quickly though and ran – to where, Bruce found he just didn't care right then.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Bruce cursed as Elliot ran a hand smoothly through his red hair, giving a quirk of his lips that simply said he, yet again, had Bruce right where he wanted him.

 

“Oh Bruce, when will you just admit defeat and let me have my way? There is only so much even you can take until you break completely,” Elliot said casually, the gun in his hand now pointed at Bruce, trained on one of the few spot where Bruce would be vulnerable. Somehow, Bruce knew he would get out of this unscathed, because he honestly didn't want to feel wrath of Jim when he got back to the Manor. Bruce made a promise and he meant to keep it. Elliot was just more scum that Gotham produced – Bruce could handle this. He _would_ handle this.

 

“You haven't defeated me yet. This has only just begun,” Bruce said in a harsh whisper that was barely audible, barely there. Elliot heard it and the smirk that had been plastered on his face melted away as Bruce gritted his teeth and ran at him full force. Bruce knew the other man was likely still injured from the gun shots Jim had given him, so this would be easy. Bruce heard the gun shot, but had tumbled to the ground into a roll just a split second before, rolling back to his feet in a squatting position and kicking his left leg out from under him, hand firmly planted on the ground, to balance his weight. His foot came up and made contact with Elliot's jaw and sent him reeling backwards to the ground, letting off another gunshot accidentally. Luckily, that one didn't hit anywhere.

 

Elliot struggled to scramble back to his feet, jaw slacked now – possibly broken. “You aren't better than me! I'm always two steps ahead of you, Bruce. Even if you take me down now there is still something I've had planned that will _break_ you in the end. Maybe not right away, maybe not months from now. But when you least expect it –” Elliot was taunting him and Bruce, with all the rage and hatred built up in his gut, the tension in his muscles from months and months of dealing with childhood friend gone sour, the torment and the pain, Bruce was done. He dropped both hands in front of him, pulling his upper body weight onto them, pounding his feet into Elliot's chest, and bouncing backwards off him as the man hit the ground again with a loud thunk. This time Elliot didn't even move.

 

Bruce landed back on his feet, body back into defense stance and watching as Elliot's chest rose and fell, but he didn't stir. Finally, just finally. Bruce pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt, kicking Elliot to lay on his stomach, pulling the man's arms behind his back and linking the bracelets over his wrists. After all that, after everything Bruce and Jim had been put through over the last nine months, it was finally going to come to an end. Maybe now the quiet of Gotham would bring them the peace they needed for a few weeks, months if they were lucky.

 

But when had they ever been _that_ lucky.

 

Bruce pulled out a device from his belt and pushed the button. It was to tell Jim to call for backup.

 

\----

 

Gordon made sure they secured the interrogation room, turned off the cameras, and Stephens was planted outside the hall so that no officers “accidentally” made their way over there. Elliot was seated, handcuffed to the chair, glaring at the two way mirror. Bruce was standing next to Gordon, still in the Batsuit but had taken off the cowl and cape and placed them on the table behind them. He had his hands on the glass, in fists, looking worn down and tired. Gordon knew the younger man was angry, but the constant struggle, the battle, and never getting even a chance to stop had worn him down in the past year and half since Harvey Dent died. Maybe now that Elliot would finally be behind bars, and the city otherwise still, Bruce would have time to finally have time to collect himself.

 

One could only hope.

 

“Couple of choices here, Bruce; Arkham or Blackgate?” Gordon sasked as he watched the red-haired man in the other room sit gloomily under the dull florescent lights. Gordon flicked his gaze over to Bruce when he didn't answer right away and saw the younger man was obviously thinking it over.

 

“Arkham is too risky. He's had his hand in there for far too long. It would be a mistake. He's not crazy,” Bruce said almost regretfully, and Gordon could tell there was a part of Bruce that didn't even want to say the words he would say next, because it meant banishing someone he use to be best friends with, to a life where he might not ever seen daylight again. “Blackgate.”

 

Gordon was relieved, to be honest. Arkham _would_ have been a bad choice, and Bruce was right – the man was crazy, in fact he was smarter than anyone would probably ever give him credit for. Thomas Elliot fooled a lot of people, Bruce included. Elliot knew how to push Bruce's buttons, his weaknesses and faults, how his mind worked, the way he worked his strategies. Elliot was dangerous to even be alive, but there was no way of knowing if he'd eventually get the death penalty for the deaths of Roger and Thelma, being it had never been cleared of more than just a hit-and-run accident. Elliot wouldn't fess up to any of that, but Bruce had him on enough accounts of everything else, from arsons to attempt of murder of the commissioner, his hands in Arkham, bribery of an official Arkham doctor; the list was long and he'd be spending the rest of his life in jail, likely no parole. Gordon could live with that and knew his brother would rest in peace now that his killer was behind bars.

 

Bruce splayed his hands flat against the surface of the glass in front of him, resting his head on the window, looking utterly spent. Gordon reached out and wrapped his fingers around Bruce's. Gordon tugged on him gently and Bruce allowed himself to be maneuvered away, his eyes finally leaving the figure in the other room, meeting Gordon's for the first time since they got there. Gordon offered him a half smile and pulled him a little closer. Bruce rested his forehead on Gordon's shoulder, arms weaving around the older man with ease. It was hard for Gordon to get his arms around Bruce with all the Kevlar, but he managed some how, if only to comfort the younger man the best he could.

 

“I am so sorry, Jim,” Bruce whispered to Gordon, his voice cracking just a little, trying to keep down the flood of emotions Gordon knew he must've be feeling.

 

Gordon held him a little tighter, right hand caught up in Bruce's brown sweaty locks, caressing. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

 

Bruce pulled back and looked Gordon in the eyes, but whatever he was going to say he kept to himself, because it was likely he'd already said it all before, and there was nothing more that could be said again. Gordon knew Bruce regretted ever involving the commissioner when Elliot started his mental attack on Bruce in October, but Gordon saw that it was never a mistake, and if Bruce had no asked for help, or at least hinted that he needed it, things could have gone terribly wrong for the billionaire. No, there were no regrets or mistakes here, just incidents that they could wish never had happened.

 

Time they could never get back.

 

\-----

 

Gordon threw down the newspaper on the table in front of Babs, who was eating a piece of toast. Dick was sitting across from her poking at his eggs with a fork in mild disgust. Gordon noticed the boy perk his head up a little to see what the newspaper said. Babs scowled at him and held it up closer to herself so the other teen couldn't see it.

 

“Not sure we'll get him on charges for your parents death, but we're gonna try.” Gordon said as he smoothed down a piece of Babs' hair behind her ear. She looked up from the paper, the head reading: **BATMAN CATCHES ARKHAM CRIMINAL**. She finished chewing her toast and then smiled at Gordon, a bit of peace coming over her.

 

“I'm glad _he_ got him.” Babs replied quietly, remembering that Dick didn't know Bruce's secret yet, and not wanting to give it away too early; at least not without Bruce's consent. Gordon sat down next to Babs and looked over at Dick, taking the paper from Bab and showing Dick the article at the bottom of the front page.

 

“Just so happens that Batman was able to catch the woman responsible for your parents accident as well,” Gordon said, not really aware if the boy was up to talking about his parents yet or not. He hadn't really said a word to the commissioner since the night it happened, and so far the only one he had been seen talking to was Bruce.

 

Dick's face went grim as he took the paper to read the small article at the bottom, covering how Harleen Quinzel had been coerced into working with Elliot to do his dirty work once more. She had worked with him once before back with is first attack on Batman, when Joker was still on Elliot's leash. Dick threw the paper down, placed his hands on the side of the table and pushed away in his chair. He slid out of the chair gracefully and walked out into the backyard, towards the rose garden.

 

Babs looked up at Gordon and he shrugged. Bruce was in the door way, having seen the whole thing. “He'll be okay. He just needs to find a way to deal with this on his own.” Bruce ran both hands through his wet hair, giving Gordon a knowing smile, a flashback of the day Bruce's parents died faded into his thoughts. Even though you tell a kid that you caught the person responsible, it still doesn't change anything; their parents were still dead.

 

Bruce walked past Gordon, brushing his hand against the older man's fingers tips for the briefest of moments. He took a cup of coffee from the counter and walked out the back door without another glance to Gordon or Babs. Gordon had talked to Bruce just half an hour earlier about the paternity test results, and just how to go about telling Babs. Bruce said the longer he put it off, the worse it would be. So, it was a matter of getting it out. Gordon reached into his back pocket and took out the now creased envelope. Babs eyed him suspiciously.

 

“What's that?” she asked.

 

“Test results,” Gordon said plainly, opening the envelope and taking out the slip of paper inside. “Remember a few weeks ago when we had to take that DNA test, to see if I was really your Uncle – for the courts?”

 

Babs nodded and Gordon took a deep breath.

 

“Well the good news is we _are_ related. The other news, depending on how you feel about the your current situation, might not be so good,” he explained and Babs looked at him with annoyed look on her face.

 

“You've spending far too much time with Bruce. Can you just get to the point?” she asked with one of her sassy attitude tones that Gordon had grown to despise, but figured it was just a part of the teenage persona.

 

“I'm your biological father.”

 

\------

 

“And how did she take the news?” Bruce asked as Gordon walked onto the porch, hands in his pockets, watching him sip his coffee.

 

“Better than I thought. She isn't unhappy about it, at least,” Gordon said walking up beside Bruce, leaning back against the rails of porch. Bruce looked at him curiously.

 

“I've been curious,” Bruce started, “You mentioned a few weeks ago when this first came up that this all happened shortly before you married Barbara when you were living in Chicago seventeen years ago. But you've been on the Gotham Police force for over twenty years.” Bruce wasn't really asking a question, he was stating some hard facts he had obviously had on his mind for a while. Gordon sighed heavily.

 

“I trained here in Gotham. Chicago PD told me it was the best place to get real hands on experience. Of course, they had no idea. They tried to pawn me off here after the Chicago Police Academy, but when the force in Chicago ran low on officers, I was called back. That was about five years after your parents died. I was only in Chicago for a year, met Thelma three months in, but when I expressed interest in moving back to Gotham, she ran to Roger. That was when I found Barbara and the rest was history. Moved back to Gotham less than a year later with Barbara at my side.

 

“It wouldn't have been long enough for a fifteen year old boy to notice or care, Bruce,” Gordon said as he saw quizzical look on Bruce face, as if he had thought he knew _everything_ about Jim Gordon. “Don't act like you should have known or something. Gotham PD never really noted my absence in their files, so a lot of people assume I'd never left.”

 

Bruce scowled a little, as if disappointed in himself more than anything. “Why had you never told me all this?”

 

“Was it really that important? A year of life wasted in a city that never wanted me there,” Gordon paused, parting his lips a little as he thought about that, since now the tables had turned and things were different. “Well, maybe it wasn't wasted. Wouldn't have Babs if not for it.”

 

Bruce moved his arm over Gordon's shoulder and to the railing, so that he was leaning over the commissioner. “I think it's best to say that somethings happen for a reason.”

 

“That what you've been telling the boy?” Gordon asked as he stared deeply into Bruce's hazel eyes. He could see just how far they've come in less than a year, how everything did change and how no matter the awful consequences, they were better for it.

 

“I see a lot of myself in Dick. He's so determined but bogged down with this hatred for what happened to his parents that he can't see past everything in front of him.” Bruce had looked away from Gordon for a moment to search the ground that lay behind Gordon, where Dick was out taking a walk.

 

“I know I'm going to regret saying this, but it seems to have done a lot of good for you in being focused and moving forward from your parents murder.” Gordon took a deep breath and waited for Bruce to look in the eye again. “Maybe he needs that training just as much Babs does. Something they can both put their energy into, for a bigger purpose – something bigger than them. Letting that teenage boy brood over the 'what if's' instead of the 'I can's' would be the biggest mistake.”

 

“Jim... I never wanted anyone to take on the responsibilities that I have. I started this so that –” Bruce tried to continue but Gordon had pulled him down into a delicate kiss.

 

“I know, Bruce. You can't stop everything though. And one way or another, Babs and Dick are going to seek some vengeance, with or without you. You can either mentor them to become more, or they fall down another path and risk destroying everything _you_ worked to build,” Gordon whispered to Bruce, lips touching with each word. Bruce had closed his eyes half way, very small slits staring at Gordon, but Gordon could still see the realization of what he said take affect on the younger man.

 

“I can't let let under aged children run around in costume at night, fighting crime,” Bruce replied in a tone just as soft as Gordon.

 

“We told Babs eighteen, the same can apply for Dick. Train them now and they'll be ready when the time comes. I know it's weird coming from me, but I've really started to see the potential in Babs and I can see that same thing in Dick. You won't live forever, Bruce and neither will I. Think of it as a good investment.” Gordon pause to gather what he meant to say and to let Bruce take in the information. “It's like you said, everything happens for a reason.”

 


End file.
